


If I'm a fool for you

by Esinde Nayrall (red_squared)



Series: The Scorching One [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-25
Updated: 2005-06-25
Packaged: 2017-10-03 20:12:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 84,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_squared/pseuds/Esinde%20Nayrall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On New Year's Eve, Remus Lupin makes a promise to Sirius Black. Five days later, Remus Lupin makes a promise to himself. If he keeps them both, it will be the hardest thing he's ever done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. January 1977

**Author's Note:**

> Written (with the working title "Two hearts beat as one") for the second wave of the Celtic-Moonstar FQF and missed the deadline like you would not believe. Thanks to [thecoldacre](http://thecoldacre.livejournal.com/) for the wonderful beta-ing. I now know the difference between "practise" (verb) and "practice" (noun). Who said fandom wasn't educational? Thanks also to my f'list for encouragement, support and, most importantly, patience.
> 
> Originally posted [**here**](http://red-squared.livejournal.com/18901.html).

_They say I’m a fool_  
They say I’m nothing  
But if I’m a fool for you  
Oh that’s something  
  
(“Two hearts beat as one” – From U2’s “War”)

~~*~~

It is almost ten o’clock, and Remus can hear James and Peter’s low chatter as they get ready for Quidditch training – James as Captain, Peter as his plump shadow. Sirius, however…

“He hasn’t made Quidditch practice for the last three weeks, and we’ve got a match coming up with Ravenclaw at the end of the term,” James says, his voice sounding muffled, coming as it does through two sets of velvet curtains.

It’s not the first time that the rest of them have woken before Sirius. Remus knows the other boy has trouble sleeping - tossing about in bed to _get_ to sleep, and then thrashing in his dreams once he _is_ asleep. None of them begrudge Sirius sleeping in past breakfast, however, they _are_ reluctant to leave Sirius in the dormitory by himself. Sirius’ father died - or was murdered, depending on who you believe - before the Christmas holidays, and Sirius’ thoughts tend to the morose if he’s left on his own. At times like that, James is the only one who can draw Sirius out of his dark moods and make him laugh.

“Well, say something to him, then. You’re Captain,” Peter replies, sounding breathless.

“Oh, good thinking, Wormtail. If you hadn’t mentioned it, it would never have _occurred_ to me to say something to Padfoot. Of course I fucking _said something_!”

Every morning, when they get to the Great Hall for breakfast, they save a seat for Sirius, just in case the other boy decides to join them. Perhaps they should stop – the empty seat at the Gryffindor table is nothing but a reminder to the rest of the school that all is not well.



“And?”

“And nothing,” James sounds exasperated, as well he might. “How do you tell your best friend to pull his weight when his father’s been murdered? And anyway, who else are we going to get to play Keeper?”

It isn’t funny, but in a way it is. _James Potter, so self-absorbed. Everything comes back to Quidditch, doesn’t it?_

“We won’t win without a Keeper, Prongs,” Peter says.

“We won’t win without _Padfoot_, you mean,” James corrects slightly more loudly, an audible snap to his tone. James might even be right – Sirius performed spectacularly in his debut as Keeper in the match against Slytherin last term.

Remus shifts onto his back and there is the sound of a laboured breath from the bed to his left – Sirius’ bed. In the pause that follows, he strains his supposedly enhanced hearing for any further sounds from Sirius, but there is nothing.

James and Peter were keeping their voices low out of deference for the fact that two of their dorm mates might still be asleep, but James’ patience rarely lasts with Peter and Sirius must be aware of them at last.

It’s understandable that Sirius pretends to be asleep until the rest of them are gone. He can even understand Sirius’ reluctance to front the Quidditch pitch. _Who wouldn’t be upset after their father died?_ It would be unnatural _not_ to be, surely.

But the three of them had thought, last week, that things were returning to a semblance of normalcy when Rosier’s lot stopped to taunt Sirius between classes and Sirius hexed Rosier and Avery bloody, while James took care of Snape and Wilkes.

They’d all thought that Sirius had recovered, because when Rosier had made a similar snide remark about Sirius’ mum at breakfast on the first day of term, Sirius turned dramatically pale and remained motionless while it took the combined efforts of James, Peter and himself to convince the Slytherins that taunting Sirius was more trouble than it was worth.

“But you have a contingency strategy, don’t you Prongs?”

“Only the beginnings of one. But it means the rest of the team will have to train harder, and learn how to play without a Keeper.”

“How?”

What makes Sirius’ reluctance to get out of bed different this time, is the fact that Remus feels responsible for it.

_This is **Padfoot**, for God’s sake. It can’t be because of what I did. He barely blinked when I – _The thought sends a lightning bolt of guilt through his stomach, but he knows he’s right about this. What he said to Sirius simply bounced off the other boy. It was hardly likely to cause him such agonies.

And yet that same, horrible feeling of guilt twists about in his stomach.

“The Chasers will have to get better at intercepting. We’ll have to learn to play without fouling as much as we normally do – we can’t afford to give penalties away without a Keeper.”

It was all so simple on New Year’s Eve, when everything seemed to fall into place. It turned out Sirius’ uncle owned the Jazz Club in London that Remus’d been going to for months, and when Sirius looked around at the other patrons of the club - most of them queer - and took it all in his stride with his characteristic _sang froid_, Remus finally found the courage to do something he’d wanted to do since fourth year – pull Sirius Black into his lap and kiss him breathless.

More importantly, Sirius had _let_ him.

“That’s not really fair to the rest of the team,” Peter says. He’s right, but Remus wants to get out of bed and hit him.

_Don’t you dare make it sound like it’s Padfoot’s fault._

“I imagine it’s not terribly fair to Padfoot that his father was murdered, either,” James says sharply.

“Yes, but you could always find another Keeper,” Peter says softly, aware at last that Sirius might be awake and listening.

“I don’t _want_ another Keeper,” James says stubbornly. “I want everything to be all right with the one I’ve got.”

It will be equally amazing if he can convince Sirius to allow Remus to kiss him breathless ever again. _I might have hurt him_ – and it’s a pretty big ‘might’, since it is difficult to tell what Sirius is thinking at any given time of the day - _but it’s not as though I broke any of my promises_ he thinks, hating himself for the miserable creature he is.

Still that’s the trick with New Year’s resolutions… Surely you’re permitted the whole year to meet them?

Like that time his mother resolved to become a vegetarian – it didn’t matter if she had the occasional lapse during the year, so long as she gave it up _by the end of the year_.

“I could always…”

“No, you couldn’t,” James says firmly.

Same thing with people who resolve to lose thirty pounds during the year – it didn’t matter if they put on another ten during the year, so long as they lose thirty pounds, plus the extra ten, _by the end of the year_.

“Want me to carry that for you, Prongs?”

This is where he runs into some difficulty – after all, it’s not as though he’s broken either of his resolutions. He promised Sirius, on New Year’s Eve itself, that the two of them would date exclusively. It’s not something he’s ever attempted with anybody else before, not something he’s even given serious thought for anybody else before, but all Sirius had to do was make the request, and Remus almost fell over himself to give Sirius his word.

_He’s bloody gorgeous._

In all honesty, he never once imagined – and he’s done a lot of imagining when it comes to Sirius – that the other boy would be the one requesting that kind of commitment from him. Everything he heard about Sirius indicated that…

_Ah, but that’s the problem, isn’t it?_

Because everything he has heard about Sirius – everything that James confided in him, that Peter claimed to have overheard, that just seemed to _fit_ for a person as good looking as Sirius – indicated that Sirius was the most experienced out of the four of them, and had slept with half the girls in their year after his betrothal to Narcissa Black ended.

It was never really made clear whether Sirius had several girlfriends at the same time, or one after another, and Remus had never bothered to find out since he didn’t want to dwell on any evidence that Sirius preferred girls, and was therefore unlikely to be interested in Remus.

“Put your paws on it and I’ll hex you through the wall. Here, if you want to make yourself useful, you can carry this instead.”

The awkward fumbling that followed their first kiss – hell, even the awkward fumbling that _was_ their first kiss – he explained away by assuming it was Sirius’ first time with a boy, and that the other boy might be nervous or uncomfortable. It never once occurred to him – and again, what he wanted to do with Sirius once he had him was something he had given a _lot_ of thought – that Sirius would be completely inexperienced when it came to boys, girls and even – to Remus’ horror – Sirius’ own right hand.

So when he saw how nervous he was making Sirius, when he realised that Sirius would be doing everything for the first time, he promised himself that he wouldn’t push Sirius, wouldn’t make the other boy do anything he wasn’t ready for.

Again, this is something he’s never bothered to make an effort for where others were concerned, and again, there must be something about Sirius that drove him to make that promise to himself – something more than just Sirius being bloody gorgeous.

“Are you going to say anything to - ”

“Not today, Wormtail,” James says wearily, as the two of them walk out the door. “Not today.”

He hears the door swinging shut but at the last minute it clicks into place softly – James must have reached out to prevent it from slamming.

_They’re gone. Now’s your chance, Lupin. You won’t get a better opportunity._

He hesitates though – it’s not an easy thing to do and certainly not something he’s done before. _Ask him to take you back. He won’t do it unless you ask_. Sirius doesn’t ask for anything he might be denied, so it’s up to Remus to fix this. _And so it should be – it’s your **fault** after all._

Just before Full, the strain of keeping both promises was too much. The pull of the moon just before Full made his body scream out for sex – there was no way he could have remained faithful to Sirius _and_ not pushed the other boy beyond what he was prepared to do.

So he took the only way out he could see at the time and broke up with Sirius.

Sirius looked mildly surprised in a polite way when Remus told him the day before Full, just before Madam Pomfrey came to escort him to the Shack. The only clue he had that he may actually have hurt Sirius was the fact that the other boy didn’t join the rest of them for Full two nights before.

_I’m not doing this because I need Padfoot at Full. I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do, I’ve promises to keep, and I want to be with him… If he’ll have me back…_

Sighing, he sits up and swings his legs over the bed. As much as he wants to repair things between the two of them, he’s not looking forward to having this conversation with Sirius. _Will he want to be with you if he knows what you want from him? What you’ll take from **anybody** the day before Full?_

Perhaps he doesn’t need to tell Sirius the whole story – after all, there’s little chance of a repeat next month.

He pulls his curtains open and glances over at Sirius’ bed, still with all of its curtains drawn. Reaching for his school robe, he shrugs it on over his pyjamas.

_I’m just going to get food_, he tells himself. Whether or not Sirius has an appetite is a fairly reliable indicator of Sirius’ mood, and if Remus can tempt him with breakfast, he’s likely to be more responsive to Remus. _It’s a peace offering, nothing more. Padfoot will have missed breakfast by the time he gets out of bed, and I just want to do something nice for him_. He slips his shoes onto his bare feet, too keyed up to bother hunting up a pair of socks.

_I’m not avoiding him_, he thinks, firmly ignoring the small voice in the back of his mind that calls him a coward.

~~*~~


	2. January 1977 (Sirius)

By the time the dormitory empties and he has wiped the red out of his eyes and the sniffles out of his nose, it is mid-morning and much too late for breakfast.

Not that he has the appetite.

Not that he’s _had_ the appetite since he left home, and while he doesn’t want to dwell on that, it is a pleasant diversion compared to everything else that has gone wrong recently. _Father’s dead, Mother hates me, Regulus hates me, Remus hates me…_

Stella Mira, his Post Owl, is waiting on his bedside table when he pulls his curtains back.

“Hello sweetheart,” he calls, as she flies onto his wrist, offering the letter tied to her ankle. Even miniaturised as the letter is, he can make out the silver and black family crest. “I don’t have anything for you up here,” he apologises, feeling wretched for not being able to feed her up after she’s flown herself ragged between here and London for the past three weeks. “I’ll come and see you tonight, all right?”

The letter is warded to correctly re-size itself at his touch, and Stella Mira flies up onto his shoulder as he snaps the seal – almost as if she wants to read the letter, too. It’s the same letter he’s received several times this year.

Everything blew up before Christmas, when he and Regulus were ordered home before the Break, just in time to stand by helplessly as Father died. Since then, he realised he didn’t want to end like Father – dying while fighting for something he didn’t believe in. After that he decided that the best way to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves was to study as an Auror, rather than play his role as the heir to the House of Black.

Discussions with Mother deteriorated rapidly after he realised that rather than arguing with her, he’d be more effective if he held himself hostage. _Help me become an Auror_, he told her, _and I’ll come back home_.

_Well, at least I know where I got my stubbornness from_, he thinks as he skims over the letter. It is another politely worded demand that he stop ‘this foolishness’ about studying to be an Auror, take his duties as heir to the House of Black more seriously, and return home for the Easter holidays.

“I’ll send one of the school owls with my reply,” he says, reaching up a hand to ruffle the feathers on Stella’s head. He’s been told that birds detest having their feathers disturbed like that, but Stella recognises it for the affectionate gesture it is. “It’s probably time you had a long rest, isn’t it? I’ll bring something from dinner with me,” he says, letting her nip his fingers before she flies off to the Owlery.

Stowing the letter in his trunk, he decides to deal with it later. _So many things I don’t want to think about. I’ll be spoiled for choice in no time_. For now, he really should deal with the one thing he can fix – providing Gryffindor with a Goal Keeper. He wonders idly if James and Peter had that conversation earlier this morning for his benefit.

Digging his Quidditch robes out of his trunk, he wanders across to the bathroom and shuts and locks the door.

“Black, are you eating anything these days? I’ll be out of a job if you keep this up.”

“Shut up,” he tells his reflection lazily as it glares out of the bathroom mirror at him.

He’s a little out of practice at keeping his expression smooth since Father died. Still, anybody who thinks he’s grieving for Father is _not_ going to see him in public trying not to cry. _The heir to the House of Black does **not** wear his heart on his sleeve._ Staring down his reflection, he strips his nightshirt off, concentrating on keeping his face smooth.

“Pathetic effort,” his reflection says, in perfect imitation of himself at his most disdainful. “But I suppose I’ll let you have this one.”

“_Let_ me? You inept sheet of glass. You should be grateful I don’t smash you for the useless thing you are,” he says, feeling his facial muscles relax into bored indifference. It’s an expression he’s practised since he was three years old.

_There’s no way of knowing how to effectively express displeasure, indifference, anger or gratitude if you don’t see it for yourself in the mirror, is there?_

“Seven years’ bad luck,” his reflection snaps, a little smugly. “You’ve circles under your eyes, you know. You want to place stewed tea leaves over your eye lids when you sleep.”

_Tea leaves? Is it trying to bait me?_ “I don’t have time for that right now. I’ve Quidditch.”

“Then you should _eat_ properly,” his reflection says, running a disapproving eye over his naked body.

_So what if you can see my hipbones. It’s not like you can see my ribs – except that you can if I breathe in. Fuck._

He tries to block out his reflection’s litany of shortcomings. _I know what I look like, it’s bad enough I have to see it without you describing it_. To exacerbate things, he’s actually grown a couple of inches since term started, making him look thinner and more stretched than he otherwise would.

But there’s nothing for it now. If James condescended to discuss replacing him as Keeper with Peter, he must be at the end of his patience. _And Wormtail’s right, it’s not fair on the rest of the team_. Not that he’ll admit it out loud.

“ – diet with more red meat. Are you listening to me? You aren’t, I can tell! Bought new Quidditch robes have you? Or are oversized robes now all the rage?”

It’s not possible to tighten his forearm or shin guards any further, but they won’t stay in place. Looking at his reflection, he forgets himself enough to look shocked at the way he appears to be drowning in scarlet and gold cloth.

“You’re supposed to be the heir to the House of Black,” his reflection sniffs. “At this rate, you’ll be lucky you’re not mistaken for a starving refugee.”

“I don’t have to listen to this,” he says, wiping the shock from his face and raising a haughty eyebrow. Depositing his nightshirt in the laundry chute, he unlocks the bathroom door and steps back into the dormitory. He shuts the door with a little more force than strictly necessary – his reflection’s probably already vanished and won’t get the benefit of the way he slams it.

_I am not going back to sleep with bloody tea leaves over my eyelids. I am playing Quidditch because even if it achieves nothing else, it will at least keep my mind off – _

“Padfoot, do you have a minute?”

_– everything I hate about my life._

Looking up from fiddling with the wrist strap of his forearm guard, he is greeted with the sight of Remus sitting on the edge of Sirius’ bed.

“As it happens,” he says, struggling to keep his voice smooth and unruffled, “I don’t. I’m late for Quidditch practice.” _I don’t have the energy to deal with you – now or ever_, is what he wants to say. His trunk is on the other side of his bed, though. _Would it look pathetically childish if I walked past him to get my broom?_

Remus’ lips curve into a half-smile. He hates that smile. It always feels as though Remus is laughing at _him_ when he smiles like that. _That’s because he probably is, Black you pathetic – _

“You’ve not attended Quidditch practice in three weeks. You’re even running late today. You really can’t spare five minutes?”

It was ‘a minute’ just before. Perhaps he is being childish, but he knows that ‘five minutes’ of Remus’ time will end up costing thirty minutes of his own. Remus always starts by asking for something so small that it appears unreasonable to refuse, and before you know it, he’s wheedled you into giving up far more than you ever intended.

“No I can’t,” he says. “Not for you,” he adds spitefully, surprised at the anger he feels. He’s always been able to take or leave people with an indifferent shrug when things don’t go his way – usually well before they can get to him or upset him. _No one else makes me as angry as you do. _

No one he isn’t related to, at any rate.

Walking closer to his bed, he is about to move behind it to get at his trunk when Remus stands and puts himself directly in Sirius' path. “Why does it have to be now, Moony? You could have spoken to me anytime these past three days, and you didn’t try. You really can’t spare another couple of hours?”

Remus at least has the decency to blush slightly as he lies, “I’ve not been avoiding you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Of course you haven’t. Forgive me. The same as the last three weeks, I’ve spent the last four days either in classes or in my bed,” _trying to pretend that none of this is happening to me, all hells I want to crawl back in there right now so you don’t see me_. “I imagine that trying to locate me in order to speak to me must have taxed your intellect considerably.”

“Padfoot,” Remus begins, moving towards him.

“What’s so bloody important it can’t wait until this afternoon?” he demands impatiently, deciding that trying to pull the catches of his stupid guards is more important than giving Remus the attention he wants.

So really, he only has himself to blame when Remus presses his lips to Sirius’ insistently.

_Stop that._

It is nothing more than a symptom of the spineless creature he’s become that he isn’t sure whether he means that for Remus, or for his own lips, which are opening under Remus’ assault as his eyes flutter shut.

Suddenly, his balance is spinning and he finds himself on his back, on his bed, with Remus’ lips still against his own, Remus’ tongue in his mouth and Remus’ fingers at his… _You can’t …oh…_ And then Remus’ fingers slip through the gap between the fastenings of his robe, reaching for his belly, and _why are you…_ and _how dare you…_ and _you can’t…_ and even _I’ll make you cry if you…_ all melt into meaninglessness as _please don’t stop, don’t ever stop_ outweighs everything else.

Remus presses down against him and the mattress dips with a clatter of metal. _Metal? What?_ He is almost grateful for the scalding wash of liquid that strikes his shoulder, causing him to cry out in pain and surprise, because it makes Remus stop, and he can think more clearly.

“Oh God, Padfoot,” Remus gasps, pulling away in surprise when Sirius nips the other boy’s mouth by accident.

The immediate shock of boiling heat against his shoulder is dissipating, and he turns slowly to see an overturned tea tray, spilling toast and jam and sugar and milk and tea all over his bedspread.

“I’m sorry,” Remus says, and it’s probably too much to hope that the apology is for anything more than the scalding. “I’m so sorry, Padfoot.” Remus sighs, shoving the tray further away. “And here I thought bringing you breakfast in bed would make you more inclined to listen to me,” Remus says, again with that half smile, lifting off him for long enough to spell the mess back onto the tray.

“Enjoyed that, did you?” Taking the opportunity to wriggle out from under Remus, he retrieves his broomstick and adjusts his robes, spelling the tea stain on his shoulder away. His shoulder still hurts, but it’s not serious enough to trouble Madam Pomfrey with. _When did all of these fastenings come undone_, he thinks irritably, looking down at his robes, which are now hanging open. He’ll have to remove his gloves in order to refasten them. “Only I’ve Quidditch now, and you’ve had your five minutes, so I’ll be off if that’s all right by you.”

“Padfoot,” Remus says, reaching for him.

He pulls away from the other boy’s hand, really having to struggle now to keep his voice unruffled. “I wonder if I’ve perhaps failed to understand something? After all, this is new to me, but _I_ thought that when you end things with someone, you couldn’t just reach out and touch them whenever you wanted to.” He can’t look at Remus once the words are out and he turns his head away, asking, “Can you?”

“No, you can’t,” Remus says softly, placing a hand on his face and turning him back to face him. “Except when you realise what a stupid mistake you made by ending things, and you want to get back together again,” Remus adds, trying to kiss him again. “And you hope they’ll take you back, by letting you.”

The anger vanishes in an instant, and a small part of him is aware that it _shouldn’t_, not as quickly as that. _Not when he hasn’t apologised or explained._

“You want to get back together with me?” he asks, dodging Remus’ kiss. _What are you doing, you idiot, this is what you want, remember?_ Remus nods, his hand still on Sirius’ face.

“Don’t you want to?” Remus asks, reaching for Sirius’ arm with his free hand, and drawing him back to sit on the bed.

“I…” he starts to say, as Remus feels down his throat with his nose. “Well, it depends, doesn’t it,” he finishes, managing not to sound strangled.

Remus pulls away immediately, his hands closing into fists that grip Sirius’ Quidditch robes. He imagines for a moment that Remus looks almost as shocked as he himself must have when Remus ended things with him four days ago.

“What…” Remus starts to say, before releasing Sirius and placing his hands in his lap. “What does it depend on?”

_On why you ended things with me, of course. Because if you don’t say, then nothing will change. And if nothing changes, then you’ll only end things with me again. And once was bad enough._

Looking at Remus watching him apprehensively, he can’t make himself say the words. Not without making it sound like an accusation. Remus doesn’t deserve that.

“Padfoot,” Remus says softly. “Tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll do it. Please. Just… I’m sorry. I didn’t want… I never…”

Whatever he was expecting Remus to say, it surely wasn’t that. _You could make him suffer_, he thinks. Just for long enough to consider and then discard the idea. _I don’t want to make him suffer_, comes immediately on the heels of it. _He said he’d do anything, isn’t that enough?_

The anger is simply _gone_ and he can’t get it back. Doesn’t _want_ it back, because he has Remus instead, and that’s a thousand times better than revenge, or pride, or any of the rest of it. Spelling the tea tray off his covers, he forces his tone to lightness as he smiles and says, “It depends entirely on how persuasive you can be.”

“You…” Remus says, staring at him blankly.

“Daft wolf,” he says, not having to feign the fondness in his voice. “Would I still be here if the answer were ‘no’?”

There is the faintest glimpse of a smile on Remus’ lips before he is knocked backward onto the bed. He’s grateful he took the trouble to remove the tea tray – he doesn’t need a second scalding.

“Give me half an hour,” Remus says, grinning back at him and leaning forward to continue the earlier kiss as though nothing has happened. “I’ll show you just how persuasive I can be.”  



	3. January 1977 (James)

“Well, you know how to fix it, don’t you Potter? Find a Keeper whose dad isn’t a Dark Wizard, and we’ll be able - ”

He snatches his wand out from under his robes and has it trained on Daniel in a second. “Don’t even _think_ about finishing that sentence. I don’t want to hear it,” he says.

_Of all the things I didn’t need during training, a fucking mutiny would have been right at the top of the list._

“Yeah, well I imagine there’s a lot of things you don’t want to hear, Potter,” Marlene says furiously. “We haven’t got a Keeper! Why are you making _us_ train for hours on end? Where’s Black?”

“Where’s Black _been_ for the last three weeks?” Rita says, almost on top of Marlene’s outburst. “It’s favouritism, Potter, nothing more. You wouldn’t do the same for any of the rest of us if we didn’t come to training for three weeks in a row.”

“I would if anyone else’s parents died,” he says, watching Marlene’s expression shift from fury into disbelief. He wouldn’t put it past her to do her entire family in, just to prove him wrong.

“Oh yeah? Well I don’t _want_ to do the new drills,” Davin says. “Why should I have to restrict the number of times I foul one of their Chasers?”

“If you foul one of their Chasers,” he says through gritted teeth, for the eighth time that morning, “they’ll be awarded a penalty. In case it escaped your notice, _we don’t have a Keeper_, so there’s a very good chance they’ll score the penalty.” Davin stares back at him belligerently. James takes a deep breath and continues, “So, don’t bloody foul them unnecessarily!”

_Or if you do, at least foul them so badly they’ll be out of the rest of the game._

“You’re solving the wrong problem, Potter. Fouling’s part of the game. Penalties are part of the game. Funnily enough, so are Keepers. We don’t _have_ one, so why don’t you fix that problem instead of telling me how to play?”

“Who do you suggest we get, Gudgeon?”

“Does it matter? Even a crap Keeper’s better than no Keeper,” Rita says.

“Sirius has made every single practice since he joined the team,” he shoots back, furious with his team for sniping Sirius in his absence, and furious with Sirius for not being there. “I’d like to see how keen you’d be on Quidditch if it were _your_ father that - ”

“You can still get another Keeper temporarily, Potter,” Marlene McKinnon says impatiently.

_It won’t be the same. They won’t be Padfoot_. More importantly, he’ll feel as if he’s betraying Sirius in his hour of…whatever.

“All right, let’s say I do that, that I get another Keeper. I _could_ do that,” he emphasises, alarmed at how keen they all look at the prospect, “but they’d still be new and untested and probably not as good as Sirius.”

“Yes, but a crap Keeper is still better than - ” Rita stops parroting that aphorism at him when he glares at her over the top of his glasses. He’s noticed McGonagall use it to instil obedience, and is surprised at how effective it is.

“All right Morphew, I’ll let you have that one. If you’ll admit that the game plan we need to stick to for a crap Keeper is similar to one we’d use for no Keeper.” Rita opens her mouth to argue, but shuts it almost immediately. “Was there something? I thought not. Now get in the air – we’ll play using half the field, until I get the Snitch.”

“Will you - ”

“After practice, yes, we will look into finding another Keeper,” he concedes, mounting his broomstick and kicking into the air as Peter releases the balls.

_No one ever told me this was part of the Quidditch captain’s role – having to baby everybody along into playing nicely_. There is only one way to win. _Regardless_ of who their Keeper is – or isn’t – they’ll have to stick to the same game plan. Why can’t the rest of those idiots see that? _Very good intercepting, no fouling, and I have to catch the Snitch within seconds_, he thinks, glaring about the field for it.

Even if Sirius himself arrives to play Keeper for the match against Ravenclaw, he is nowhere near his peak condition. James doubts Sirius has eaten or slept properly since he got back from the Christmas holidays. Additionally, Sirius seems to have lost any interest in his appearance – going about in school robes that don’t fit properly, chewing his fingernails, not having his hair cut properly… On any one else, it wouldn’t be so worrisome, but this is _Sirius_, who constantly lectures the rest of them about maintaining standards, and appropriate forms of dress.

“Don’t even think about it Gudgeon!”

_If he’d only tell the rest of us what’s bothering him_. He told Peter that he wasn’t likely to blab anything Sirius confided in him, but the embarrassing truth of the matter is that Sirius _hasn’t_ confided anything in him.

_And it’s not just Sirius, there’s something not right with Regulus too._

The first day back after the Break, McGonagall was waiting for Sirius at the portrait to Gryffindor Tower, requesting his presence in Dumbledore’s office. The rest of them were sitting down to breakfast in the Great Hall when Sirius finally walked in, with Regulus in tow.

The hush that fell over the Great Hall indicated without a doubt that not one single student had failed to notice that some sort of powerful Dark Magic had been cast on Regulus Black over the Break.

_He looks older than Padfoot, even. Something’s **definitely** not right._

“Morphew, use your eyes! You could easily have stopped that pass!”

The deliberately casual way in which Sirius seated himself at the table and asked Remus to pass him the toast indicated more clearly than words that Sirius was _not_ prepared to discuss the matter.

When he pressed Sirius about it, all James was able to get out of the other boy was, “Mother wants me to do something. I won’t do it, so she’s going to make Regulus do it instead”.

Rosier’s clique had happened by in time to hear Sirius’ remark, and Rosier said something despicable about Sirius’ family. James half expected Sirius to jump up and hex the Slytherin off his feet, but Sirius just _sat_ there, looking shocked. Even after James hit Rosier with a Jelly-legs Jinx, and Remus and Peter started in on the rest of the Slytherins, Sirius _still_ didn’t go for his wand.

Later on, when Remus asked what it was that Cassiopeia Black required of Sirius that Regulus was being forced to do instead, Sirius set his mouth in a straight line and descended into one of his dark fits. Since the second day of the term, Sirius avoided the Great Hall, and has started to take to his bed whenever he isn’t in classes, or scribbling his homework together.

“Careful, Enders!” he yells, as one of the bludgers sings past his head. _All hells – if that had hit me, Daniel would have just given the other team two penalties._

Just then, he sees the Snitch – sometimes he is almost convinced it comes to find him when _he_ can’t find _it_ quickly enough. As soon as his fingers close around it, the sirens around the pitch go off, and the scoreboard sends crimson and gold sparks into the wintry fog.

“Wormtail, I told you we only needed the pitch lights on, not the scoreboard as well!” It will take another twenty minutes before the sparks stop. “All right,” he starts, addressing the rest of the team as they land around him. “That wasn’t too bad. We’ll wait until the scoreboard settles down, before we try again.”

“Is this some sort of sick joke, Potter?” Marlene says, using her broomstick to hold herself upright. “We’ve bloody been at this all _morning_.”

“I don’t see why you’re punishing _us_ just because you’re afraid to replace Black,” Violet adds, weaving slightly.

It’s not that he’s afraid. Exactly. If he tells Sirius that he’s off the team, Sirius will probably shrug and laugh it off. But if he can’t find anybody better, and asks Sirius to join the team again, he knows his best friend well enough to know that Sirius’ pride won’t let him accept.

_Can’t blame him, since I’d do much the same myself._

“It’s not punishment,” he says, trying not to sound as exhausted as they all must be feeling.

“It’s still not fair!” Daniel says, looking ready to pass out.

“Well life isn’t always fair, Enders,” he snaps back.

“If it was - ” He lifts his head at the sound of that familiar voice. Sirius smiles coolly as he trains his wand on Daniel, “ - then things like this wouldn’t happen.”

Daniel jumps as the jinx strikes.

“What are you doing here?” Rita says furiously.

Sirius turns to her calmly. “You all looked as though you could do with a longer rest. This way you’ll get one until the jinx wears off,” Sirius says, as though he’s done them all a favour.

“Are you here to play, or to mock the rest of us?” Daniel snarls, hopping about madly.

“I was hoping to find time for both, if that’s all right by you,” Sirius replies with infuriating calm. Violet starts to reply, but Sirius cuts her off. “That’s if you still need a Keeper?”

“Good of you to put in an appearance at last,” Marlene says, with a smile.

“Yeah, well I do what I can.”

“More important matters to attend to, were there?” She is looking pointedly at what look very much like a series of small reddish marks on Sirius’ throat.

“Family business,” Sirius answers, not aware of what she is referring to.

She raises her eyebrows at him, as Rita and Davin choke back laughter. “Yes, we would have worked that out for ourselves,” she says, raising her eyebrows further. “Except we all thought your betrothal to Narcissa was over.”

Just as Rita explodes into snorts of laughter, Sirius seems to finally understand that she’s referring to the love bites on his throat. To his credit, he doesn’t fidget or try to rearrange his clothing to cover the marks.

“Pity it took you so long to decide to join us,” she continues. “But I’m sure we’re all grateful you managed to tear yourself away from your _pressing_ family business for the afternoon.”

“I imagine you would be,” Sirius says, with a smile that James knows means trouble. “With the intercepting I saw earlier, I imagine you could probably do with two or three Keepers.”

Marlene’s smile freezes into place.

“The scoreboard’s stopped, Prongs,” Peter pants, running to rejoin them on the field.

Sirius and Marlene haven’t looked away from one another, and are glaring at one another like two cats meeting for the first time, each sizing the other up and trying to decide whether or not it is necessary to fight.

_If he hexes Lily’s best friend, I’ll never hear the end of it._

“Everyone! In the air _now_, we’re going again,” he shouts, mounting his broomstick. “You too, Enders! Half the field, play until the Snitch is caught.”

It is a relief to let his team play their natural game now that they have their Keeper back. Or at least it would be, if Marlene wasn’t ordering the other Chasers to play to the strategy they were working on this morning – with the result that the Quaffle rarely gets anywhere near the hoops.

_Cow_, he thinks vindictively, watching Rita almost knock Violet off her broomstick to get the Quaffle Marlene’s just passed. _She’s probably determined to show Padfoot the rest of the team doesn’t need him_. He can see the Snitch to his left but decides to ignore it – it’s more important at this point to see if Sirius is able to play properly, and he won’t be able to do that unless the Quaffle reaches the other boy.

Finally, when Daniel fouls Marlene, she takes a penalty and Sirius stops it. _Good_. She shoots Sirius a murderous glare as he flies out of bounds to fling the Quaffle back into play. The Snitch is still hovering off to his left, and he flies after it, retrieving it and sending the scoreboard crazy again.

“Wormtail!” Far below him, he can see Peter scampering back to the scoreboard with his wand out. “Play on!” he calls, as he sees Marlene about to descend. Peter resets the scoreboard and he releases the Snitch.

Halfway through their fourth game, one of his Chasers – he isn’t certain which of the three it is – fouls Sirius as she makes the goal. Sirius falls to the ground with an audible thump. “All right, Black?” Marlene calls out as she flies after his broom.

“Right, that’s enough,” he shouts, rubbing sweat out of his eyes. _Which of them was it? Does it matter? They probably all wanted a crack at him…_ It’s tempting to _accio_ the Snitch, but as Sirius himself says, there are Things That One Does Not Do. _Forget it, I’ll make Wormtail fetch it later._ “Dismount!”

“I’ll take the equipment back to the shed,” Sirius offers, struggling up and rubbing at his shoulder. “Where’s the Snitch?”

“Forget about the Snitch,” he says, waving one hand impatiently. “That wasn’t too bad, today. I think we’ll do all right against Ravenclaw at the end of the term if we keep that up. It’s Hufflepuff that bother me, though.”

“Don’t worry about them, Potter. We don’t play Hufflepuff until after the Easter holidays. There’s plenty of time,” Davin says easily.

“But that’s just the problem, Gudgeon, we won’t _have_ enough time _because_ of the Easter holidays.”

“What do you suggest, then?” Marlene asks, probably searching for a way to make all of this Sirius’ fault as she hands him back his broom.

Remus is convinced that she fancies Sirius, but he can’t see it himself.

“We practise over the Easter holidays. I’ve already written to my parents – they’re more than happy to sponsor a Quidditch Camp at our place for a week.” He tells himself he’d better write home to ask permission – he doesn’t think his parents will refuse him, but it’s probably in his interests to give them fair warning.

“No _way_,” Violet says furiously. “You’ve been enough of a slave-driver these past three weeks! I’m not spending a whole week doing more of the same!”

“It’s only if we lose against Ravenclaw,” he says, wishing he didn’t sound as though he is backtracking. “If we win, then that’s fine, but the match against Ravenclaw is on the last Sunday before Easter, and the Hufflepuff one is in May. We’ll have less than a month to prepare.”

“I’ll do it,” Sirius says. “If we lose to Ravenclaw, I’ll be there.”

“So will I, then,” Marlene says. The other two Chasers glance over to her. “I’ll do it as long as Black makes every single training from now until the match with Ravenclaw. If he misses _one single practice_,” she continues, as though Sirius isn’t standing _right there_ listening to every word, “then I’ll take this up with McGonagall and tell her that you can’t Captain properly.”

“Yeah. Right,” he says, trying not to frown. “What about the rest of you lot, then?” They glance uncertainly at one another. He just needs one more to agree and he’ll have four out of seven.

_This is all so **tedious**_, he thinks furiously. _Why can’t they just do as I say?_

No one ever told him this is what captaining would be like – trying to make your players want to play to win instead of wanting to kill one another – or him. And trying to work out how his best friend should fit in to the whole thing, and whether Sirius needed a kick in the rear or a shoulder to cry on... Not that he was comfortable with the thought of Sirius blubbing anywhere near him, but still. That’s what you did when your best friend’s dad died, surely?

Athene Bagnold – the previous captain – made it all look so easy. The team did as it was told because she was Captain and they weren’t. There had never been any talk of mutiny or grassing to McGonagall or threats to Athene’s authority.

Relief floods through him as the rest of the team eventually murmur their consent.

“Well,” Marlene says to him, after flinging a nasty smile at Sirius, “now that we’ve the whole team together again, we should do something to celebrate.”

“I suppose we could,” James says, not sure where this is leading.

“It’s a good idea,” Sirius says. _Why are you agreeing with her?_ “What do you reckon we should do?” Sirius directs the question to him. _What are you asking me for? It was **her** idea_. He gives Sirius a vague shrug. “Tell you what – since it’s because of me that we’ve a reason to celebrate, why don’t you let me fetch something back from Hogsmeade for all of us? My shout.”

_Probably the closest thing to an apology the team’ll get out of him._

“Are you taking requests, Black?”

“If Hogsmeade’s got it,” James replies, as Sirius' expression darkens, “we’ll fetch some back.”

“How are you going to get to Hogsmeade without getting caught?” Daniel asks worriedly.

“There’s a secret passage from the library,” he says. “Underneath the History of Magic stacks. It lets out in the attic of the Hog's Head.” He grins inwardly. There are seven in total that the four of them know of, but if there truly _is_ one in the library, it’s unknown even to them.

“Really?” Daniel is staring at him with his mouth open.

“No, not really,” he says, as Daniel scowls.

“It’s actually under the Divination Stacks,” Sirius lies smoothly, rolling his shoulder and smiling in a satisfied manner as the joint clicks. Daniel’s scowl deepens. “You let us worry about how we’re getting to Hogsmeade and back.”

“Go back to the Tower,” he says, seeing that Marlene is about to say something. “We’ll be up shortly.”

They are about to move off, when Rita pulls up in front of a Prefect. _Snivellus_. “Was there something?” she asks, when he fails to move out of her way.

“No, by all means, hurry back to the Tower. It’s almost time for everyone to be back indoors,” Snape replies, staring pointedly at Sirius who ignores him. “I wouldn’t want to dock points from any of the little lions I catch outside of Gryffindor Tower after five o’clock.”

_Is it really **that** late already?_ He checks and finds it is almost half four – this is the trouble with darkness falling so early. He will never get used to it. _Bring on summer._

“I intend to continue on my rounds,” Snape continues, as politely as a guest informing his host he is taking his leave. “Professor Meadowes has instructed me to keep a close eye on the main gate to Hogsmeade,” he finishes, raising an eyebrow at Sirius who continues to ignore him.

“Well you’d best get to it then, hadn’t you,” he says, his fingers reaching under his robes for his wand. It’s been weeks since he’s started a fight with Snape, and he’s reluctant to start one now, with Lily’s best friend watching him. _Surely Snape isn’t going to try to take the lot of us on?_ “Wormtail, turn the field lights off.”

Peter rushes back off to the scoreboard. Snape gives him a sneering smile, and then vanishes into the darkness.

“Greasy idiot,” Rita says under her breath. Marlene laughs softly.

_Meadowes told him to keep an eye on the Hogsmeade Gate? The hell she did_. If anything, Snape’s comment is nothing more than a challenge to get to Hogsmeade and back without being discovered.

“Wormtail, head back to the Tower with the team,” Sirius says, ignoring the way Peter’s face falls when he’s dismissed. “Prongs and I’ll be back shortly.” Peter looks as though he is about to protest, looking to James in appeal. Sirius effectively cuts off any protests by pointing commandingly out to the Quidditch equipment scattered around the grounds, saying, “But first, get that lot cleaned and back to the shed.”

As they walk back to the Castle, toward the passage hidden under the statue of the one-eyed, hump-backed witch, he looks at Sirius and says, “I was wondering what you were playing at, offering to take the gear back to the shed.”

“I only offered so that the rest of you couldn’t order me to do it,” Sirius says, with a flash of white teeth. “Even _you_ looked as though you were close to making me.”

“Should have known you had no intention of lowering your Noble and Most Ancient self to the task,” he teases, as he has a hundred times before. Except this time, Sirius tenses. “Something the matter?”

The other boy shakes his head. “I’ll tell you later. Let’s get moving,” Sirius says, obviously keen to change the subject. “We should be able to make it there and back before five o’clock if we take our brooms, and if we can bring a memento back from Hogsmeade for our dear friend Snivellus…”

He might not understand whatever it is that Sirius’ family wants him to do, might not be able to help Sirius deal with his demons, but when it comes to making Snivellus cry, he knows exactly how to go about it.

Grinning, they start to race towards the statue.  



	4. January 1977 (Sirius)

“You must really be letting yourself go if a simple trip to Hogsmeade can wind you like that,” James says, hazel eyes alive with mischief, prying while managing to sound innocuous. Sirius is breathing hard as he dismounts and staggers up the stairs into Honeydukes proper to join James.

“I thought I might let you win, actually, Prongs,” he fires back. “It was the least I could do, after depriving you of a Keeper for three weeks.”

“I should think so. Bloody hell, Padfoot, I was _this close_ to replacing you with Wormtail.”

He snorts in derision, one of a variety of expressive snorts he uses when he doesn’t want to bother himself with words. He usually keeps them in reserve for his younger brother, or for Peter.

“You _must_ have been desperate for a Keeper, if you considered replacing me with Wormtail.”

“And you didn’t have to let me win,” James continues, clearly determined not to let the subject drop, “since you already offered to buy dinner for the rest of us.” He smiles in reply. “Why’d you offer to do it?”

_Because it’s the closest thing to an apology the rest of the team are going to get out of me._

“McKinnon was getting on my nerves, trying to undermine you like that. I know she’s Evans’ best friend, but that doesn’t mean you have to roll over and let her tromp all over you. Suggesting that we all celebrate since I was back, as if she were Captain.” James flinches slightly. _You’re not **really** worried about her complaining to McGonagall, are you?_ “And you didn’t seem to have anything in mind, so I offered to buy dinner before she dictated that, too.”

“I should be offended,” Madam Rosmerta says, as they enter the Three Broomsticks, “that you’re the only two students to patronise my Inn today. So late in the day, too.” Raising an eyebrow, she starts to pour drinks for them, as she continues, “I _should_ be, except I happen to know that there isn’t an authorised Hogsmeade weekend until just under a month from now.”

“The Hogshead’s got new drinks in,” James lies cheerfully, lifting one of the mugs to his lips. “Stronger butterbeer, for one thing. Perhaps we should join the rest of our fellow students there, Mr Black?”

“Or perhaps Madam Rosmerta can make our patronising _her_ inn worthwhile?”

“I’m more than happy for you to patronise my inn. Less pleased when you try to patronise _me_,” she says, but she smiles as she speaks. “Still, it occurs to me that you’re not the first students I’ve had through here today. Your brother, Regulus, came by earlier to use my Floo.” He smiles politely, trying not to think about everywhere Regulus is likely to have been today, and prevents himself from having to answer by taking a drink from the mug James hands him. “Now. What can I do to make your patronage _worthwhile_?”

He catches James’ grin and murmurs “Keep it out of the gutter, Potter,” as he looks around the Inn for a free table. “And get something for my owl.”

Clearing a space on a table covered in clutter, he sits and studies his mug as he waits for James to join him. He fights down the impulse to get something especially for Remus. _Haven’t you given him enough already, you spineless creature?_

“Marlene offered to help you practise, one-on-one if you want,” James says, as he comes across.

“Yes, I’m sure she did,” he says. Remus mentioned to him earlier in the term that the reason Marlene was so horrible to him was because she secretly fancied him. _What, so secretly even she doesn’t know about it,_ he asked Remus, who wasn’t amused. He’s still not sure whether Remus was annoyed because Sirius didn’t believe him, or because he was worried Sirius would ditch him in favour of Marlene. _Yeah, like hell._

“Said she’d come to the practice at my place over the Break if I could guarantee you, remember?” He ignores the remark. “I think she _liiiiiiikes_ you.” He raises an eyebrow, wordlessly ordering James to be quiet. “This one-on-one business, then. Going to take her up on it?”

“Don’t be bloody stupid, Prongs.”

“No? Thought not. She said you could do with the practice, though,” James says.

He knows he is being goaded, but it doesn’t matter. _She can’t say that about me_. “Is that right,” he says, trying for a dangerous tone and pleased with what he is able to manage.

“We could make a day of it, you know. Lily could spot her. I could spot you. The four of us could all bond over Quidditch…”

“We’d come back to Hogsmeade…”

“One thing would lead to another…”

“Lily and I would run away screaming…”

“I’d hunt you down and thrash you, for running away with my girl…”

He laughs at that, both of them sniggering into their drinks. Looking up, he can see Madam Rosmerta waving James over. As James obediently trots back to the bar, he takes another swig of his drink.

_She said Regulus came by to use her Floo..._ Regulus, who hasn’t spoken to him since term resumed, has probably been ordered home by Mother. _I was never allowed home during the term_, he thinks angrily. But then, Regulus is of age now, Aged using Dark Magic so that Mother has someone to take Father’s place in Council.

_Has he taken **my** place_, he wonders, not for the first time. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time – refuse to assume the duties of eldest male of the House of Black unless she let him have a say in what the House of Black stood for. He never considered for a moment that she would simply pass over him and force Regulus into the same role. _It’s all my fault, but I never meant for him to be hurt_, he thinks uselessly.

It is just his luck that the flames in the hearth flare with green light, and his younger – older, whatever – brother walks out of them.

_Snivellus_, he thinks urgently, watching Regulus make his way to the door. _Snivellus will be waiting for us at the Gate, and he’ll catch Regulus instead._

He can’t let his brother pay for his actions a second time and wriggles free of the bench, walking quickly toward the door.

“Stay where you are. Wait for me,” he orders.

Regulus turns around in surprise. “What do you want, Sirius?”

“I just told you what I want. Have you gone deaf? Stay where you are,” he growls, heading back to talk to James.

James turns in surprise as Sirius approaches. “What’s going on?” James asks, as he turns around. The food parcels are miniaturised in his palm. Looking over to the doorway, James notices Regulus and frowns. “Did you plan to meet him here?”

“No! I don’t… I think he’s been home. He’s come back from London.”

“Padfoot…” James says softly, slipping the goods into his pocket. “What is it that you won’t do that your mum’s making Regulus do instead?”

“She needs one of us to support her proposals in Council,” he says softly.

“Is that all?” James says, both looking and sounding confused.

“Is that _all_? Prongs, you know what my family’s like! What sort of things do you think they’re likely to support in Council? What sort of things do you think they’re likely to vote for?”

_They’ll never accept me in the Auror Academy if I support something like a vote to make it illegal for Wizards and Muggles to intermarry. Or a vote to allow researchers to test spells on Muggles._

“Even going to the meetings is more than anyone should have to bear,” he adds, thinking back to the ones he was made to attend, having to test everything he laid hands on for traps or unpleasant surprises. Taking a deep breath to keep himself from losing his composure, he continues, “Can you go back to the Castle and meet us at the Gate with the invisibility cloak?”

Younger brother or no, he is _not_ prepared to reveal any of their secret passages to Regulus. _We’ve already had Snivelly reveal four of them to Filch. There’s only this one, the one-eyed witch and the Willow left_. He loves his brother, but he knows that Regulus’ temper is as volatile as his own and isn’t prepared to entrust _any_ of the passages to Regulus’ knowledge.

“Of course,” James says, probably more out of a desire to help Sirius than to help Regulus.

_Can’t blame him. Not when it’s the same for me._

“Thanks. Got Snivellus’ present?”

James grins and waves a bottle at him. “I’ll meet you just outside the Gate,” James promises, as he takes off.

Wonder of wonders, Regulus is still at the door after he settles the bill with Madam Rosmerta and returns.

“So at least you’ve started talking to me again,” Regulus drawls. “I don’t suppose it’s too much to hope that you’re ready to acknowledge me as your senior?”

“I’m ready to acknowledge you as a whiney brat whose backside I am covering by getting you back to Hogwarts without letting Snivellus expel you,” he replies equally smoothly, determined to out-drawl his younger brother.

“That Slytherin Prefect? He doesn’t know I’m here.”

“No, but he suspects that _I’m_ here, and he’s waiting to catch me out at the Gate.” That gets him the reaction he wants, even if it’s only a widening of the eyes. “That’s right. And you might have been Aged to seventeen, but Dumbledore wants you to behave like all of the other ickle second years, doesn’t he? Which means no trips to Hogsmeade on the sly.”

“How are we going to get back in, then?”

“You let me worry about that,” he replies, grinning inwardly at the way Regulus jaw clenches. “Here, get on,” he orders, swinging a leg over his broom.

Regulus gives him a doubtful look but does as he’s told. They make the journey back to the main gate in silence. He lands well away from it – James will be wearing the Cloak to get past Snivellus and he wants to be able to see James approach. Regulus dismounts and steps away from him, arresting himself when he sees Snivellus walk past the gate.

“What are we going to do?”

“Let me worry about it, I said. Where are you coming back from, anyway?” He can’t bring himself to ask after Mother just yet. “London?”

“I received a Howler this morning.”

“Oh?”

“From Mother,” Regulus continues, shivering slightly in the night air. And it is night, even if it still isn’t five yet. _Bloody winter_. He’s surprised about the Howler though. Regulus has always been Mother’s favourite. “She wants to know why you won’t come home.”

“I take it you didn’t pass my message on to her, then?”

“What, that you wanted something in return for coming home?” Regulus laughs. “Don’t be thick. No one _negotiates_ with Mother. You do what she wants willingly, or you do it unwillingly, but you _do_ it first, and then ask for a reward.”

“How are the meetings?” He assumes Regulus is attending the horrible, quasi-Council meetings that must still be taking place in secret. That was surely the whole point of Aging the baby to seventeen. No one can convene a formal session of the Council of Seers unless the Minister of Magic is dead, or demonstrates incompetence. Which only means that Councillors meet anyway, except they meet in smaller groups, having the same conversations over and over again, with different participants each time.

“They’re all right. Someone’s passed the word about that chocolate sponge is my favourite cake – or was, anyway – and now I’m offered nothing but.” Chocolate sponge is his favourite, too. “And it’s not as though you can refuse it, can you?”

The offer of food confers a sign of acceptance. There is no polite way to refuse it, and your safety is assured in another pure-blood’s house if you’ve eaten what’s offered.

“What are they doing offering you chocolate sponge?” Mother can’t stand the stuff, it’s well known. “I was certainly never offered any when I accompanied her.” Any host with an ounce of sense would always, _always_ cater to the tastes of the senior most guest. He was stuffed to the gills with foul cucumber sandwiches at the meetings he attended. “Is she sending you to meetings on your own?”

Regulus glances away. _Well, if I needed any proof that she trusts a twelve year old – even if she’s made him seventeen – more than she trusts her heir, that’s it, right there_. He only attended a few meetings following Father’s death, but she accompanied him to every one of those.

“I’m _of age_ now. Of course I’m going to them on my own. If you were to come back… You _are_ coming back, aren’t you?”

“I told you, I’m not coming back unless she gives me what I want.”

“And what is it that you want?” Regulus says impatiently, as though _Sirius_ is the one behaving unreasonably.

_To be allowed to study at the Auror Academy_. “That’s between me and her.” He glances at the gate, wondering how much longer James is likely to be.

“You can’t do this, Sirius. If you leave, the whole world will know about it.”

“I don’t care.”

He does care. He cares terribly. As difficult as obeying Mother is sometimes, he doesn’t want her to have to deal with the public embarrassment of a son running away from home. He doesn’t want his family closing ranks with him on the outside, either.

But… _It’s the only credible threat I have._

“You should care! Do you have any idea the scandal this could cause? Why must you be so _stubborn?_”

“Why must _she_ be so stubborn? You should spend less time worrying about how things look, and more about how things are. Look at what she’s done to you! You’re only twelve, and she’s made you seventeen so you can go to Council meetings on your own – and you’re already starting to sound like a pretentious Councillor!”

“Don’t you raise your voice at me,” Regulus yells back.

“You’re only talking to me now because she’s told you to, aren’t you?” Regulus makes an impatient noise and moves away from him slightly. He reaches out and pulls his brother back so he’s not tempted to shout again. “Is that what your Howler was for, this morning? For not talking to me? Let me guess; she can’t make me see reason, so she’s getting you to yap at my heels, to make me come home.”

“We can’t stretch the truth forever, Sirius. Either come home, or…” _Or what?_ “People are starting to ask questions.” Sirius remembers something Rosier said to him on the first day back, and laughs mirthlessly. “What are you laughing at now?”

“People might be asking questions, but they’re also starting to invent answers of their own.”

He tells Regulus what Rosier told him, about how it was common gossip that Mother Aged Regulus to maturity so that she could marry him and have his children, to continue the line. _Or perhaps she’ll skip that, _Rosier sneered at him,_ and turn **you** into a girl so you and Regulus can get married instead. Such a sweet pair you’d make_. James, Remus and Peter hexed Rosier and the rest of his gang into unconsciousness, while he remained in his seat, shaking and trying not to show it.

He knows that his House’s motto is a source of amusement for his schoolmates. _Bloody McKinnon_, he thinks savagely, recalling Marlene’s earlier comment about Narcissa. Absently, he tugs his robes over the marks on his throat where Remus kissed him that morning. It seems like a lifetime ago.

Still, he long ago stopped reacting to their ludicrous insinuations, and for the same reason, he expects Regulus to give him one of those chilling, disinterested, ‘I’m not even going to grace that with a response’ looks that he himself occasionally still practises in the mirror, or to laugh with him.

He is not prepared for Regulus to stare at him in horror and turn away to be instantly sick on the roadside.

‘Regulus…” he tries hesitantly, ashamed of himself. _Not a pretentious Councillor. Just a little boy_. Regulus is still making faint retching noises. He finds himself using Regulus’ baby name, calling, “Baby cat, it’s all right.” Following after Regulus who is still bent in half at the waist and spitting, Sirius brushes the hair out of his brother’s eyes, and strokes his back. “It’s just a filthy rumour, there’s no truth to it.”

“Who said - ” Regulus spits one final time and straightens. “It doesn’t matter. She’ll never have any more children.”

“Not ‘never’, Regulus,” he says gently. In all honesty, he isn’t sure how to process the idea that he might have a half-brother or half-sister in a few years. In more than one of the meetings he attended with Mother, several fairly transparent offers for Cassiopeia Black to remarry if she so chose were bandied about as though it were nothing out of the ordinary.

“Never,” Regulus says fervently. _So used to being the baby_, Sirius thinks affectionately. “She can’t.”

“Regulus, I know you don’t like the idea of - ”

“She _can’t_, Sirius, she honestly can’t. She’s changed since you left.” If anything, Regulus looks even more haunted now. “The Aging potion she gave me… I threw it at her.”

_Of all the times, Regulus, that you could have chosen to grow a spine…_ “Is she all right?”

“No, she’s not,” Regulus says angrily. “As if you care, anyway.”

“I do care,” he says softly, meaning it.

“She’s nearly ninety, Sirius.” _All hells_. That would have added more than fifty years to her age since when he saw her last. “She can’t walk properly yet, and she drools when she speaks, and…” Regulus shudders, looking as if he is about to be sick all over again. “You can’t tell anyone else.”

“I won’t,” he promises, trying to picture what she might look like now, and then immediately trying to scrub the image from his mind. _No wonder she hasn’t turned up in person to order me home._ “It’s all right, Baby cat,” he says, noticing that Regulus still looks ill. “She shouldn’t have done this to you. It’s not your fault.” Something else occurs to him. “This is why you’re going to meetings on your own, isn’t it?” Regulus nods miserably.

In the distance, he can see James appear suddenly out of thin air, walking along the path toward them. “Listen,” he tells Regulus, pulling out a handkerchief and cleaning his brother’s face with it, “we’ll talk more about this later, all right?”

“You’ll come back, won’t you? Nothing I do is ever good enough. She asks after you every day.”

He wants to say yes, but he also doesn’t want to make promises he can’t keep. “We’ll talk about it later, I said. Prongs!”

By the time James approaches, Regulus no longer looks haunted or anxious, and is wearing an expression of polite interest, as though _he_ is the one suffering to do James a favour.

“We’ll get you back onto the school grounds. From there, I want you to go straight back to the Ravenclaw dormitory. Get under the cloak,” he urges, checking with James to make sure that everything is covered that needs to be. As he looks up at the gate, he sees Snape patrolling it. “What’s the time?”

“Just before five. We’ve still got a few minutes before we’ve got to go inside.”

“All right. Let’s go.”

It seems to take forever to walk quietly past the gate and onto the grounds. Snape, however, is too absorbed in staring down the path that he’s not listening out for them.

Getting closer to the school, James pulls the cloak off.

“Here,” he says, stuffing the soiled handkerchief into Regulus’ hands. “You can keep it. Straight back to Ravenclaw, now.”

“What was all that about?” James asks, as they watch Regulus leave.

“I’ll tell you later,” he assures James, actually meaning it for once.

James nods as though he wasn’t really expecting any other response, and pulls the bottle out of his robes. “Shall we inform Snivellus that we’ve beaten him?”

“It’s still not gone five, has it?”

“We’ve a while, yet.”

“Brilliant. Do you want to do it, or shall I?” James gives him a vague shrug he can only just discern in the darkness. “Well then, Mr Prongs. By all means…”

“Oi, Snivellus!” Snape whirls around in surprise as he and James approach. He keeps his hand under his Quidditch robes, close to his wand, ready for trouble.

“On your way to Hogsmeade are you?” Snape asks sourly. _Poor dear. He’s only been waiting an hour and half to try and catch us out._ “You set one foot outside that gate and I’ll go straight to McGonagall.”

“To Hogsmeade? It’s nearly five o’clock. I’m exhausted, for one thing,” James grins, playing up to the invisible audience. “You must be too, having to patrol tonight. Thought we’d bring you something to keep you going,” he finishes, handing Snape the bottle – still warm from the tap at the Three Broomsticks.

“You wait, Potter,” Snape spits, flinging the bottle away and yanking his wand clear.

“Sorry, I’ve plans already. Perhaps next week. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

Snape snarls wordlessly at them again, before vanishing into the night, heading towards the school.

“I could kiss Evans, you know Padfoot,” James says, smiling happily at Snape’s retreating back.

“We _all_ know, Prongs.”

“No, I mean really kiss her. That was almost more fun than just hexing him outright.”

“More work, though. Pity he threw the drink away. What did you put in it?”

“Private experiment. Temporary Transfiguring Potion. Would have turned him into a half-man, half-frog for a day.” James summons the bottle with his wand.

“Does it work?”

“No idea. I’ll get Wormtail to drink it after he’s had a few.” They both snigger at that.

“It’s nearly five, Prongs. Let’s get back to the rest of the team before Snivellus really does catch us out of bounds.”

“Can’t have that.”

“No,” he says, relieved that he still has a place on the team, that James is still his friend, that Remus wants him back and that his younger brother doesn’t hate him. “We really can’t.”


	5. January 1977 (Remus)

He hates having to patrol, even if it is only until bedtime, after which time the Professors take over. _Nearly eight o’clock_, he thinks to himself, hearing the bell tower toll the half-hour. _Thank God. I’ve had enough of this for one night._

He checks the grounds around him once more, before starting to make his way up to the Owlery. There’s only another half an hour to go. Professor Meadowes must have made a mistake with the assignations for Prefects since she originally gave him a full moon night. _It’s not as if she doesn’t know_. The Headmaster, the deputy and the Matron all know, if not the other Professors and staff.

He almost considered swapping again when he realised that, forgiveness or no, Sirius had other plans. _Stupid Quidditch team. It would be just my luck that he decided to start playing Quidditch again on the day I wanted to get back together._ He can always throttle James later – he’s almost _certain_ Sirius wouldn’t have bothered if he hadn’t overheard James and Peter in the dormitory this morning.

“’Lo Stella,” he hears someone call, as he makes his way up the steps. He increases his pace, seeing the door to the Owlery open just a crack, warmth and light streaming into the night. There’s only one student in all of the school with an owl called Stella. “I told you I’d come and see you, sweetheart. Here, brought you this, fresh from Hogsmeade.”

Reaching the door to the Owlery, he opens it wider. The rafters above are empty – it’s dark outside after all, and every single owl is out in the darkness, hunting for its supper. Every single owl with the exception of Stella Mira, who is perched on Sirius’ wrist, and having her supper handfed to her. Sirius looks up as he steps inside, and smiles warmly.

“Hey, Moony.”

“It’s nearly eight, Padfoot. You should be indoors.”

“I am indoors.”

“You know what I mean. You’re lucky I got here before anyone else.”

Sirius smiles and waves the Map at him with his other hand. “I knew it was you.”

“Here,” he says, holding his hand out for it. Sirius passes it to him without disturbing his owl. “Why are you up here?”

“I haven’t fed Stella in weeks. Standard fare is all right, I suppose, but she’s been flying between here and London several times a week. I though she could do with fattening up,” he says fondly. _You could do with some fattening up yourself._ “Didn’t think I’d get stuck with the Quidditch team all day. I didn’t know you were on duty tonight.”

“I wasn’t. I swapped.”

_God help me for being jealous of an **owl**, of all things_. Turning his mind to the Map, he places a ward over it. _At least he keeps his promises to **her**_. That isn’t strictly fair, since Sirius hasn’t actually made him any promises. _At least he promises things to **her**. Flea-ridden thing_.

“What are you scowling at?”

“I’m warding the map,” he says, hedging smoothly. “It’ll warn us if someone approaches.”

“It’s all right, Moony, I’ll be done in a minute,” Sirius says, watching Stella pick his fingers clean. “There’s no need.”

“No?” He places the final touches on the ward, so that the Map will burn red if anyone approaches the door to the Owlery steps.  
“What if someone were to see us doing this?” He wraps his arms around Sirius from behind and kisses his neck.

“You’ll want to stop that,” Sirius laughs, leaning back into him despite his words. “I still haven’t had a chance to wash after Quidditch.” Sirius’ eyes are already dark, pupils straining for every bit of light in the torch-lit Owlery, but just as he twists to face Remus, they darken further. _All for me_. “Moony, I smell.”

_Yes, you do. Smell of field grass, and leather gloves, and bacon fat, and winter mist, and Stella Mira, and the taproom at the Three Broomsticks, and James Potter, and the morning sky and there, right there, the smell of **you**, pure, sweaty, dirty, mine, mine, mine…_

“I like the way you smell,” he says. Pulling himself together – and it is an effort, every single time – he steps away slightly and shuts the Owlery door.

Sirius turns fully to face him as he returns, smiling that lovely, nervous smile. He wraps his arms around Sirius again, and pulls him closer. Still with Stella Mira perched on his wrist, Sirius returns Remus’ embrace, letting Remus kiss him properly. Sirius shifts forward into the kiss, his nose rubbing against Remus’ as they explore each other’s mouths. He can taste everything Sirius has eaten for dinner. _Here is chicken, and here is roast pumpkin and here is bread and here is…grass?_

Pulling away for a moment, he is relieved to feel Sirius follow after him, placing kisses around his mouth and along his jaw. “No one else tastes quite like you, you know.”

“I imagine no one else would taste quite like you, either,” Sirius laughs, as Stella flies from his wrist to his shoulder.

_I imagine…_ He loves that Sirius prefaced what he said with ‘I imagine’. _Because Sirius only can imagine, because Sirius doesn’t **know**, because Sirius hasn’t tasted anyone else, because Sirius is all mine._

Stella takes the opportunity to solicit Sirius’ attention, rubbing her beak against his face. _All right, that was definitely a kiss, and definitely uncalled for_. Sirius ignores the smear of bacon fat she’s left on his cheek, and kisses the top of her head.

_I am **not** jealous of that stupid owl._

The four of them have known since third year that all creatures – magical or otherwise – like Sirius. Since their first Care of Magical Creatures lesson, when the three unicorns they were studying – two adults and a foal that were _supposed_ to only like girls – all decided that they wanted to be friends with Sirius.

Avery sneered that the unicorns were too thick to tell boys and girls apart, and all three unicorns ignored him as they gambolled towards Sirius. It was only when Rosier suggested that the unicorns weren’t at fault since most people would have trouble deciding whether Sirius was a boy or a girl – only when someone dared to insult _Sirius_ – that the two adult unicorns lowered their heads and charged at Rosier and his gang, while the foal kept pushing her nose under Sirius’ hand for a pat.

After that first lesson, Sirius wanted to drop Care of Magical Creatures but wasn’t sure how to do it without it looking as though it was because of what Rosier said. He was the one who convinced Sirius to stay, since the Magical Creatures were probably just as reluctant to approach a werewolf as they were eager to befriend Sirius, and Sirius subsequently spent every lesson seated next to him.

He’s not _jealous_ of Stella Mira. Or of McKinnon’s Kneazle. Or of any of the countless other creatures that appear to be prepared to do anything for Sirius. It’s just that… _Is that why I’m attracted to him? Why **I’ll** do anything for him?_ It’s not the first time he’s wondered whether he’s just another Magical Creature, drawn to Sirius for whatever reason.

“Why do you taste of grass?”

“Do I?” Sirius looks away from Stella at last. “Violet Richardson fouled me off my broom and I hit the pitch face first.”

“Poor Padfoot,” he murmurs, kissing around Sirius’ face as the other boy closes his eyes. Stella hoots in affront as he places one hand behind Sirius’ neck and draws him closer, kissing his mouth and tasting him again – grass and all. They are only starting to get into the kiss when he’s aware of something beating against his face.

“What - ” he growls, pulling away from Sirius again. It’s Stella Mira, beating her wings against him.

_What does that bloody owl want now?_

“Moony, the Map’s turned red.”

He reacts instantly, shoving Sirius away and across the Owlery. Stella clicks her beak at him in rage, flying away to fuss over Sirius who has fallen to the floor. He gets to the door just as it opens, and Severus Snape enters the Owlery.

“I might not be able to prove that you’ve been to Hogsmeade, Black, but you’re definitely outdoors without permission after five. Shall I dock forty points from Gryffindor, or shall we take this up with McGonagall?”

“Without permission? Actually, I’m here at _my_ Prefect’s request, to receive a letter.” Snape’s eyes alight on the Map, which is thankfully no longer glowing red. Before Snape can _accio_ it, Stella flies from Sirius’ head and retrieves the Map for him.

“After dark?”

“Owls are nocturnal, Snivellus. Surely even you know that.”

He walks as quietly as he can around the door, so that he can pretend to enter the room for the first time. Snape – fully absorbed in admonishing Sirius – doesn’t notice him.

“Receive all your mail lying on the floor, do you?” Snape’s eyes flicker to the Map once more, just as Sirius tucks it away in his robes. “Can’t you receive it at breakfast like everyone else? Oh, that’s right. You’d rather spend mealtimes hiding in your dormitory than gracing the rest of us with your presence.” Sirius adopts his characteristic ‘Bored Brat-Prince’ expression, which never fails to make Snape’s blood boil. “We’ve missed you in the halls. I’m sure Rosier would have requested that I ask after you, if he knew I’d run into you.”

“What a well trained pet you must make, anticipating your master’s every whim as well as bending over backwards to fulfil it,” Sirius says, smiling dangerously.

“Severus?” He speaks up before they can start jinxing one another. _Might be interesting to watch – it’s even money which of them knows the most Dark Magic_. “What’s going on here?”

“So you’re here at your Prefect’s request, and yet he doesn’t know anything about it?” Severus sneers at Sirius, as though Remus hasn’t spoken.

_That’s right. Ignore the half-blood_.

“I believe my question was addressed to you, Severus,” he says, more calmly than he feels. “I know what Sirius is doing here. I asked him here after all.”

“He’s not supposed to be outdoors after eight without permission.”

“He’s not outdoors, and even if he were, he’d have my permission.” Snape opens his mouth to argue the point. “You can go. I can take care of this.” Refusing to look away, he waits for Snape to swing his gaze away.

He waits for a full count of twenty after Snape stalks out before he lets out the breath he’s been holding.

“Going to take care of me, are you?” Sirius asks, the hostile belligerence softening into an affectionate smile. Sirius reaches for Stella who is perched on his head and crooning to him softly. After having her feathers ruffled, she flies back up to the rafters, hooting happily.

“The best care, Padfoot,” he replies, walking over to Sirius, stretching out next to him and placing a soft kiss on his lips. “I should take ten points from Gryffindor for my own carelessness.”

“Moony…”

“No, I take full responsibility for that. I should have warded the Map so it gave us enough warning for us to get out of here, not just enough warning to know we were about to get to caught.” Sirius laughs softly, grips the collar of his robes and pulls him down for another kiss.

“Well, being kissed one minute then shoved across the Owlery the next wasn’t exactly pleasant,” Sirius chides, but he is laughing as he says it.

“Would you let it go if I said I’d award you fifteen points to Gryffindor?”

“Fifteen?” Sirius asks in surprise, trying to sit up to look at him. “What have I done to earn those?”

He smiles and places a hand on Sirius’ chest, pushing him back onto the floor. “You haven’t done it,” he says stroking his fingers through Sirius’ dark, feathery hair as Sirius looks back at him with that beautifully bewildered look on his face. “Yet.”


	6. February 1977 (Sirius)

“You’ve Quidditch in half an hour! Get _up_ you dozy idiot!”

Reaching a hand out from underneath his covers, he swats irritably at his alarm, which quietens immediately. Rolling up into a sitting position, he swings his legs over the bed to discover that _someone_ has undone all the fastenings of his nightshirt.

_Moony you untrustworthy deviant_, he thinks, standing up and refastening them. Disabling the alarm-charm, he opens his curtains on the side facing Remus’ bed and sees that while his curtains are also open, Remus is still in bed.

He reaches a hand out to shake the coverlet over Remus, when someone shoves him onto the bed hard from behind.

“Mr Padfoot will need to remember, in future, that he should get up _very_ early in the morning if he wants to try to catch Mr Moony off guard.”

He is wrapped up in his own bedding – _mummified_ – and then flipped onto his back with Remus sitting on him and grinning down at him.

“Something you wanted, Padfoot?”

He gives an experimental squirm, finding it almost impossible to throw Remus off. “I’ve Quidditch, you know.”

“You’ve _always_ bloody Quidditch. It’s _Sunday_. What about me, hmm?”

“We’ve only got Sunday practices until we play Ravenclaw,” he says gently. He knows that Remus gets frustrated with the amount of time he spends playing Quidditch or with his younger brother or really – when it comes to it – doing anything that doesn’t involve a combination of Remus and no pants.

“The game against Ravenclaw is the Sunday after Full in April,” Remus says with a quick smile. It is getting slightly easier to decipher Remus’ speedy smiles – this one means ‘it would be nice if you spent Full with me, but I know you won’t’.

“I’ll still spend Full with you,” he promises. “We all will.”

“Yes, if Prongs _lets_ you,” Remus says, in a tone of voice he doesn’t understand. The smile is back just as quickly.

“Moony, you know I - ”

“Do I? I’m not so certain I do.” _You don’t even know what I was going to say. **I** don’t even know what I was going to say._ “You never even got me anything for Valentine’s Day,” Remus says, with a theatrical sniff. He’s only half convinced the other boy is exaggerating.

“It was two weeks ago! Why didn’t you say something then?”

“Well, its not like you’d have had a chance to buy me anything before the day,” Remus says. “But yesterday was a Hogsmeade weekend,” he continues. “And you still didn’t buy me anything.”

“Neither did you, then,” he says, wondering where this is leading. It’s not uncomfortable being wrapped up and sat on, but he’s aware that his feet are exposed and vulnerable and Remus _knows_ he’s ticklish.

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, dear Padfoot. I did buy you something for Valentine’s Day. I just thought I’d wait until you had the opportunity to return the gesture. How sorely deluded I was,” Remus says, placing the back of hand on his forehead and pretending to swoon.

“_I_ thought you were only supposed to buy presents for someone you loved,” he says, hoping to throw Remus off during the other boy’s fake swoon, but Remus just tightens his grip around Sirius’ waist with his legs. “Do you love me then, Mr Moony?”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he wishes he hadn’t said something so _stupid_, but Remus only smiles, leans forward and kisses him.

“What will you give me if I give you your present?” Remus says into his ear, when he pulls away from Sirius’ mouth.

“I won’t give you the thrashing you so richly deserve. Let me _up_, I’ve _Quidditch_.”

“Oh pipe down, training doesn’t start for another half an hour. Anyone would think you didn’t want my present.”

“Maybe I don’t,” he challenges. “It’s probably something rubbish from Zonko’s that I’ve already got three of.” Remus’ response is to smack his face with a pillow. “Hey! I can’t defend myself – that’s not fair!”

“Yes, but as a very wise man once said, life isn’t fair because if it was, then things like this wouldn’t happen,” Remus says with a smile, placing the pillow over his face.

“Stop that, I can’t _breathe_, Moony, you stupid bastard!” he chokes out around a mouthful of down.

“Such a honeyed tongue,” Remus coos at him, lifting the pillow off his face. “I couldn’t hear you properly, but that sounded a bit like ‘Darling Remus, I would consider myself privileged to receive a present from you, and apologise for my thoughtlessness in not having bought you one and especially for impugning your kind gift without even seeing it’.”

“Yes, all of that,” he agrees as Remus smirks and unrolls him. “Except for the last bit. I’ll have to see what it is before I apologise for impugning it. If it’s what I think it is, I might have to impugn it all over again.”

Remus flings the pillow at his head, but he smiles as retrieves the present. “Well go on and open it, then.”

“Right now? In front of you?”

“Of course in front of me,” Remus says, sitting behind him and hugging him. “After all your fuss and whining, I want to see your face when you open it.”

The package is neatly wrapped in a rather risqué shade of red and tied with creamy white ribbon. When he raises his eyebrows at Remus, the other boy pokes him in the side and says, “Oh hush, they offered to wrap it for me and I thought they’d do a better job of it than I could have.”

He’s been brought up not to open presents in front of other people – especially whoever it was that gave it to him. He can hear Mother’s voice in his head, telling him it is the height of discourtesy. _You give the person – your guest, friend, whoever it is – your full attention and once they have left and **only** then do you attend to their gift_. Father added that apart from being rude, it was also handy to wait until the other person was out of view before testing the package for traps.

Pushing aside a surge of homesickness – _she’ll change her mind, she has to_ – he loses patience with the ribbon and snaps it into three pieces.

“I can see why you don’t normally open gifts in front of other people,” Remus says, sounding amused. “Wouldn’t do for the heir to tear into his presents like a five year old on Christmas morning, would it?”

_Am I still the heir_, he wonders, thinking about Regulus. Since their run in at Hogsmeade, he meets up with Regulus in the library nearly every morning before breakfast so they can go through the paper together. He’s still careful not to promise that he’ll return home with Regulus for the Easter Break.

“I don’t need any comments from you,” he says haughtily, feeling Remus laugh into his back. The crepe-paper scrunches away to reveal a phial the size of his hand, filled with a liquid the colour of honey. When he gives it a shake, the substance proves to be far less viscous than honey. “What is it?”

He uncaps the top, releasing a subtle scent of marzipan.

“It’s massage oil,” Remus replies, resting his chin on Sirius’ shoulder to see his expression. “Almond scented.”

_You surely can’t use this to massage me while I’m still dressed, can you?_ Something inside him leaps at the thought of being naked for Remus, with the other boy running his hands over him, stroking, squeezing…

_Stop it._

“You could have waited until my birthday,” he says mildly. It’s less than a month away.

“You don’t like it,” Remus says, pulling away from him.

“I didn’t say that,” he says. _Are you going to ‘massage’ me with your hands, or with your whole body?_ An image flashes through his mind of both of them naked, him lying back with Remus lying on top of him, pushing and rubbing into him.

“You didn’t say you liked it, either,” Remus says, sounding slightly petulant.

“Moony, don’t sulk. I’ve never used this stuff before so I can’t know if I’ll like it or not, can I?” Remus sticks his tongue out at him. “You’re going to use it on me, aren’t you?” He’s surprised he doesn’t stumble over the words, but this is what Remus wants, surely? “Can’t I tell you then?”

“You’ll let me use it on you,” Remus says, sounding slightly disbelieving. He nods. “When?”

“I don’t know,” he says softly, setting the oil onto the small table between their beds – they’ve yet to settle which of them it belongs to. “Soon, I hope,” he adds, finding that he actually means that. Standing, he walks over to Remus. “Thank you,” he says pulling Remus down so he can kiss him. “What made you think of it?”

“If you _must_ know, I thought anything that helped you relax could only be a good thing.” The teasing tone is gone. “I know you sometimes get scared, and I don’t want you to. You shouldn’t have to.”

“I don’t get sca - ”

“Liar,” Remus says, still perfectly serious. “It’s all right if you are, Padfoot. But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or nervous or…” Remus stops when he hears Sirius laugh. “What is it?”

“You do that just by looking at me sometimes,” he says, now sincere. Regardless of where they are or of who else who might be there, Remus has a habit of staring at him and smiling. “You look at me like you’re waiting for me to make a mistake, or catch me out.”

“Catch you out? But I already know what a sweet, shy maid you are, Padfoot,” Remus replies, kissing the tip of his nose.

“It’s not _funny_,” he says. “Half of the things you tell me, I don’t even know whether you’re making them up or not. You could be making fun of me, and I wouldn’t know.”

“As I recall, I said that _some_ people were aroused by having their eyeball licked, Padfoot,” Remus says, referring to a conversation they had last week. “I never said I was one of them.” He cringes inwardly at the memory. _Yuck_. “You think I’m making fun of you?”

“Aren’t you?”

“_You_ might make my life miserable if our positions were reversed, but that doesn’t mean that _I’m_ as cruel as you.”

“This is _not_ something I would tease you about, if I were in your position!”

“No?” Remus challenges, again with that amused half smile. “_I_ remember my first week at Hogwarts, coming here from a Muggle school, knowing only very little about the Wizarding world. _I_ remember a horrible little first year who told me that the proper way to mount a broomstick was to stand with one foot on either side of it before calling ‘up’.”

“That was James, not me,” he says defensively, trying not to smile at the memory.

_It’s amazing you’d want to be friends with either of us after that._

“You both looked the same to me, back then. Anyway, you were still _there_ and you never said anything to stop me.”

“I didn’t think it would work, if you must know,” he replies, wondering about all of the other things he might have done to Remus in the past that the other boy is silently holding against him. “I don’t do that anymore,” he says softly. _Not to you, at any rate._

“I know, but I’ve finally found something you care about that I know more about than you do,” Remus says. “I’ve waited nearly five years for an opportunity like this, Padfoot. You can’t expect me not to have any fun with it.”

“That doesn’t explain why you stare at me all the time,” he says, forcing himself to smile lightly. _I can take a joke, see?_

“I stare at you all the time because you’re beautiful,” Remus says without hesitation.

“No,” he laughs. “You’ll have to do better than that. Regulus is the beautiful one, not me. You’ll have to settle for the clever one, instead.” Remus says nothing, simply staring at him again. “If nothing else, I’m not any better looking than I was last year, before you started gawping at me, so you’ll need to do _much_ better than - ”

“If _you’re_ the clever one of the two of you, then the House of Black is in real trouble,” Remus laughs softly. “You’ve got it all backwards, you daft Dark Wizard.”

“Then why have you only - ”

“You only _think_ I started staring at you after I kissed you that first time,” Remus continues, still sounding far too pleased with himself, “because that was when you finally started to look back at me. And you saw that I was watching you.”


	7. February 1977 (Remus)

“Of all of the _stupid_ things to - ” James stops mid-rant and sniffs the air. “Has your mum sent another lot of macaroons, Moony?”

_No, it’s the massage oil I was just about to use to nail my boyfriend except the pair of you had to come back to the dormitory and ruin everything_, he thinks viciously, pretending to yawn.

“Are you only just waking up, Moony?” Peter asks, as he follows James into the dormitory, saving him from having to answer.

“I had to patrol last night,” he says. It’s true, but the reason he’s back in bed is because just as he was convincing Sirius to allow him to give him a massage, the Map flared red in warning, and Sirius scampered off to get changed, convinced that James was coming back to fetch him.

“_Did_ you?” James says, sounding as though he is genuinely interested. Peter is flapping his arms in warning from behind James. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about McGonagall giving one of my Chasers and one of my Beaters detention for the whole of today and most of the coming week?”

“What are you on about, Prongs?” he asks, without the faintest idea of what might have set James off this time.

“Morphew and Gudgeon have been given detention for a whole week, because McGonagall caught them shagging in the Astronomy Tower.” He puts a hand over his lips and starts to laugh. “It’s not funny!”

“I’m sorry, Prongs. It’s just that… I honestly don’t know whether I pity the two of them or Professor McGonagall more.” He lets his hand fall away since he’s laughing openly now. “Come on, it is a _little_ bit funny.”

“It is _not_! We have to play Ravenclaw in two months!” Something occurs to James as he glances around the room. “Where’s Padfoot?”

“He’s getting kitted up for practice,” he lies smoothly. _Actually he’s taking care of the erection I gave him before the pair of you came back early and **ruined everything.**_

He’s only kidding himself – it’s doubtful that Sirius would have let him do more than _actually_ give him a massage, regardless of whether they expected to be interrupted or not. Sirius’ reluctance to put out is nothing new and is definitely nothing to do with James’ presence.

Still, it is easier to hate James for his interference than Sirius for his prick-teasing ways.

“Oh, for… PADFOOT!” James bellows, not bothering to move any closer to the bathroom.

“WHAT?” Sirius bellows back, not bothering to open the bathroom door.

“PRACTICE IS CANCELLED!”

“WHY?”

“I’LL TELL YOU LATER.”

Sirius mutters something even he can’t discern from behind the door.

“So what are we going to do today, then?” Peter asks, looking to James.

“I’ve got to finish my essay for Transfiguration,” he says quickly. Perhaps he can get Sirius to help him with it – at least then they can spend some time alone together and talk without being interrupted.

“That? It’s not due until Thursday,” James says, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, but I don’t imagine I’ll have much of a chance to work on it tomorrow, Tuesday or Wednesday.” It’s not strictly true – he gets more schoolwork done the day before Full than any other time of the month.

“If you were going to cancel practice,” Sirius says, storming out of the bathroom in full Keeper’s regalia and a visible strop, “you could have said something before I went to bed last night. I wouldn’t have bothered getting up early this morning.”

“Only an idle layabout like you would call this _early_,” James says, his temper dissipating with Sirius’ entrance. “Anyway, it wasn’t my idea. Gudgeon and Morphew have been confined to quarters all week after McGonagall caught them shagging yesterday night.”

It rankles that Sirius reaches the same conclusion as James, turning to face him and raising his eyebrows.

“They were taking a risk,” he says, annoyed at having to explain. “The Professors check up the Astronomy Tower every night.”

“Where else do they check every night?” James asks, sounding strangled.

“Who have _you_ been shagging up the Astronomy Tower?” Peter asks curiously.

“I’ve never heard it called that before,” he says with a small smile, as Sirius sits on the edge of his bed and punches his arm.

“So when’s the next practice, then?” Sirius asks, before Peter can ask James about the Astronomy Tower again.

“Can’t practise as a whole team again until next Saturday.”

“She gave them a whole _week_ of detention?”

“You wait until McKinnon and Richardson get their hands on Morphew,” James says disgustedly. “Or until I get my hands on Gudgeon.”

“Right. Shall we visit Hogsmeade, then? I’m out of Fudge Flies,” Peter says, with a stretch.

“_Hogsmeade_?” says Sirius, sounding contemptuous. “We were just _there_ yesterday. You can’t have eaten all your Fudge Flies already.”

“I didn’t buy any,” Peter points out. Remus catches Peter’s attention and rolls his eyes in sympathy. It goes without saying that since Honeydukes wasn’t on Sirius or James’ agenda for the day, it wasn’t on his or Peter’s either.

“I’m amazed you could forget,” James says, sounding disbelieving and completely missing the point. “You’re _obsessed_, Wormtail. This preoccupation with Fudge Flies… It’s not right!” James says, before sitting on Sirius’ bed facing him and Sirius. “Besides, everyone knows that the Jelly Slugs are superior,” he adds.

“Well what do _you_ want to do, then?” Peter asks, sitting on the floor so he can watch the others.

“Not Hogsmeade. Not during the day. It’s too risky. I don’t want anyone else on the team getting confined, or losing House points or any of the rest of it. Moony can buy your Fudge Flies for you after Madam Pomfrey takes him down to the Shack tomorrow.”

_Oh I can, can I?_

“Fine by me,” Sirius says, standing up and trying to kick James off his bed. “I’m going to get changed and then I’m going back to sleep.”

He catches the worried look that crosses James’ face before James disguises it.

“I think you’ve done quite enough of that,” James says lightly, watching Sirius’ eyes narrow. “We should go up to the library. I’ve just remembered something brilliant.”

“What, that Evans will be there?” he asks, trying not to sound tired.

“No, _really_,” James insists, watching Sirius half reach for the curtains to his bed before turning to look at James curiously.

“Oh _really_?”

“_Really_. I think Snivellus overheard us when I said there was secret passage to Hogsmeade under the library,” James says. “Stebbins told me that Rosier’s lot have been crawling all over the library looking for it.”

_**That’s** your idea of entertainment? Going to the library and watching those idiots look for something that isn’t there? Get out and let me talk Padfoot into letting me shag him. That’ll cheer him up far more._

“I think we can do better than that,” he says, slightly alarmed at the way they all turn to face him. “With the invisibility cloak, we can _convince_ them that there’s a passage there.”

Sirius understands straight away. “We can take it in turns to go to the end of the stacks and wear the cloak.”

“And Wormtail’s small enough to walk down the stacks and transform so they can’t find him,” James adds with a smile.

“It’ll throw them off looking for any of the real passages for a bit. Especially the Willow,” he says. He’s certain that Snape at least has seen him crossing the grounds towards the Willow with Madam Pomfrey on more than one occasion.

“Are they in the library already?” Sirius asks, frowning slightly.

“That’ll be the easiest part,” James says casually. He’s probably right – it is pathetically easy to bait Rosier’s clique.

“All right,” Sirius says. “You and Wormtail go and make sure they follow you to the library.”

“What about you, then?” James asks.

“I can’t go dressed like this, can I?” Sirius says, gesturing to his Keeper’s uniform and all of the padding and guards that go with it.

“Conceited prat,” James says fondly. “You really do have an outfit for everything, don’t you? The world could be ending, but you’d still have to stop to change.”

“Clear out, the lot of you. Let me get changed in peace,” Sirius says.

“Oh for pity’s sake, Padfoot, stop wasting time. You can go as you are,” James says. Sirius scowls at him.

“He’s not the only one who needs to get changed,” he says, kicking his covers back and sliding out of bed. James looks away from Sirius to him as though surprised that he is still here. “_Some_ of us aren’t quite ready to venture outside the Tower in broad daylight wearing only our pyjamas,” he says, reaching for the sash of his dressing gown.

“_Fine_,” James says, moving towards the door. “Come on, Wormtail. We’ll await this precious pair at the library,” he says with a grin. Taking the Map _and_ the Cloak, they let themselves out.

“Think it’ll work?” he asks, as Sirius starts to undo the straps on his guards.

“The prank? Hard to say,” Sirius says with a smile. “They’re not terribly bright, so it might at that. They don’t know about the Cloak.”

“Rosier suspects - ”

“Let him. He can’t prove anything,” Sirius says, his voice tightening slightly at the mention of the other boy’s name.

Of the four in the Slytherin gang, Rosier is the only one that bothers Sirius. Avery is laughable and Wilkes and Snape are ‘beneath contempt’ if Sirius is to be believed, but Rosier… Rosier makes even Sirius nervous, although the other boy will never admit it.

“They certainly don’t know about Peter’s ability to transform into something small,” he muses, watching all of the protective gear come off Sirius’ body until the other boy is standing there in only his under-robe. “You’re not really going to get changed in the bathroom are you? There’s no one here but me.”

“We don’t have the Map,” Sirius says, setting out a change of clothes in a stack to take with him. “They might decide to stop back here before going to the library.”

“Right,” he says, trying not sound defeated. All of his work, undone in ten minutes. _It’s last month all over again_. He tries not to worry about the fact that Full is coming up. _I can make this work. I can keep my promises._

Sirius stops for long enough to kiss him quickly before going back to the bathroom, closing and locking the door to get changed.

James Potter is going to be made to suffer for this.


	8. February 1977 (Peter)

He’s relieved to reach the library, grateful for not having to look behind his shoulder constantly. James and Sirius might find it exhilarating to taunt the Slytherins, but he’s always found that it’s less nerve wracking if you know where you’re running to first.

Glancing at the Slytherin dormitory on the Map, Peter sees that Avery has run straight to Rosier and Wilkes. The three of them, with Snape, should be joining them in the library shortly.

“It’ll be too expensive to lace everything with the potion,” James says, referring to the prank the two of them are planning for Sirius’ birthday.

It was only this morning that he made the final breakthrough in their experimental potion. _Shame we didn’t have it by Friday_, he thinks. _We could have bought the supplies in Hogsmeade yesterday._

“We’ll have to try and spread it as widely as - ” Seeing Sirius approaching, he stops, and nudges James in warning.

“About time,” James says smoothly, addressing Sirius.

He looks around for Remus, and can’t see him behind Sirius. “Where’s Moony?”

“Pardon?” Sirius asks, his brow creasing slightly.

“Shut up, Wormtail,” James says, handing Sirius a stack of cinnamon toast. “Here, get this into you.”

“I’m not actually hungry, thanks.”

“You missed breakfast, you idiot. Would you just - ” James hisses in affront as Sirius pushes the offered toast away.

Finally, Remus appears around the corner, walking towards them. “You brought toast for me?”

“If you want,” James says, handing him a slice, “since Padfoot isn’t hungry. Even though he skipped dinner last night.”

“Oh for – Prongs, that’s not Padfoot. It’s Regulus.”

“How can you tell?” James asks, glaring at Regulus who returns a puzzled look.

“You mean you can’t?” Remus says, grinning after Regulus who still looks perplexed while walking into the library.

“Is Padfoot still getting changed?” he asks, glancing back down at the Map. There’s no sign of Sirius in the corridor.

“No, he left before I did. He should be inside by now,” Remus says, reaching for more toast.

“He left before you did,” he asks Remus. “But you knew for sure that it was Regulus we were talking to?” Remus nods impatiently around a mouthful of toast. “How?”

“We’re going to have to paint one of them red to tell them apart,” James says. “It’s only since he put on that extra bit of height – they’re nearly as tall as one another now.”

“And you call yourself his best friend,” Remus sniffs, disapprovingly.

“You’d best eat the lot,” James says, handing the entire stack of toast to Remus who starts to do just that. “You’ll need feeding up before tomorrow.”

They’d once thought that if their friend had a decent feed while still human, he wouldn’t try so hard to get away from Padfoot and Prongs in order to find human prey on full moon nights. That idea proved to be a miserable failure since Remus wasn’t able to keep down anything he ate the day before full.

“We could make Sirius recite a password, so we could be sure it was him,” he suggests, pushing the door open for the three of them

“He’d tell it to Regulus just to annoy you,” James says, grinning at him. Unfortunately, James is probably right.

He glances down at the Map as they enter the study area. “High and Mighty,” – Rosier and Wilkes – “have taken the bait. They’re following Avery back here. Oh, and look. There’s Snivellus, too.”

“Brilliant. Wait until we - ” James stops, seeing Sirius sitting where they usually study…with Regulus seated next to him, their dark heads bent over a copy of the Daily Prophet. One of them is running a finger along a line of writing and speaking softly while the other nods impatiently. “All right, Moony. Which one’s which?”

The two brothers look up as they approach, wearing identical expressions of bored indifference. Regulus has probably told Sirius what happened outside, and Sirius – who has a belligerent streak a mile wide – clearly isn’t going to make it easy for them to work out which of the two he is by greeting them.

“You really can’t tell the difference?” Remus asks, frowning in disbelief. Pointing to the brother that was speaking, he declares ‘Sirius’ and to the other, ‘Regulus’.

“Wrong, actually. That was pathetic, Moony,” the nodding brother says.

“Ha!” James calls triumphantly, earning a warning glare from Madam Pince. “That’ll teach you to be so bloody smug. Admit you’re wrong.”

“I am not wrong,” Remus growls, glaring at the brother who just spoke to him.

“No, he’s not,” the correctly identified Sirius says, his face breaking out into a smile. “Here,” he continues, addressing Regulus. “Take your paper and hop it. I’ll talk to you later.”

James is clearly just about to snipe at Remus, when Peter sees Rosier’s gang approaching. “Psst,” he hisses warningly.

The four Slytherins drop down onto a table close to the four of them, within earshot. Seated as they are in a group study area, they are able to get away with speaking in low voices as long as they discuss schoolwork and don’t disturb any of the other students. Remus sits down next to Sirius and James glares at him slightly before sitting opposite, next to Peter.

Remus takes a bit of parchment and carefully inks the words ‘Five points from Slytherin for disturbing other students’ study’ in large letters. They let five minutes go by and when it becomes obvious that the Slytherins aren’t there to study, James ostentatiously rifles through his satchel to retrieve some parchment, with Wilkes watching his every move.

“Fuck, I left my quills in the dormitory,” James declares dramatically.

“Prongs you halfwit. We’re not going to get anywhere with this if you don’t concentrate,” Sirius says, softly and amusedly.

“I’ll be back shortly,” James says, lifting his satchel. The Cloak is neatly folded and stored inside it.

“Here, take the shortcut,” Remus says, loudly enough to get Wilkes’ attention again. Passing the Map across to James, Remus turns back to his work.

James takes the Map and pretends to study it carefully, before tucking it under his robe and making his way to one of the less popular stacks. Few people bother with the NEWT-level Divination books, since the subject matter is so imprecise.

_Why study when you can just make it up?_

“I’m just going to get that Divination text,” James says loudly, before striding off towards the stacks. Of the four Slytherins, Avery at the very least should know that James doesn’t take Divination, since Avery takes Arithmancy with Sirius, James and Remus. Peter is the only one still persevering with Divination. Again, why study Arithmancy when you can just make Divination up?

Wilkes’ eyes follow James as he makes his way between the stacks, raising an obscene amount of dust.

“Is it working?” Remus asks quietly.

“Yes, he’s watching very carefully,” he replies, looking past Sirius at the glowering Slytherins. “Git.”

Sirius laughs quietly and Snape looks around at the sound, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

James reappears a few minutes later, waving a handful of quills at them, his hands clearly unencumbered by Divination texts – not that the Slytherins have any way of knowing that the quills were in James’ satchel the whole time. Waving his wand, James charms the dust he just displaced back into order on the floor and the shelves.

Watching from his desk, Wilkes does not miss any of this.

Half an hour later – it won’t do to let their audience get bored, after all – Sirius stretches, declares that he is tired and says he’s off to get some tea. James makes a show of searching about his person for the Map, before handing it to Sirius. Sirius snatches it up and heads to the alcove, where James will have left the Invisibility Cloak for him to use.

“So his birthday’s in three weeks. What are we going to do about it? It falls just before the legitimate Hogsmeade weekend,” Remus says, sounding slightly annoyed.

“We’ll need to get the supplies now itself, Moony,” James says smoothly.

“Supplies for what? We don’t even know what we need yet,” Remus says, sounding confused.

“As a matter of fact, we do. Wormtail and I have got it all planned out,” James says, pulling a fresh piece of parchment in front of him and scribbling madly.

“Do you?” Remus says harshly, frowning slightly at the length of the list James is scribbling. “I thought we were planning this together.”

_It’s starting early this month_, he thinks to himself.

Madam Pomfrey always escorts Remus to the Shack the morning of the day before Full. Remus is usually so bad tempered before Full that he says it’s better not to be around other students when he’s in such a state. That way, he won’t hurt anybody’s feelings, and might still have some friends left after he transforms back.

The three of them take this in their stride. In much the same way Remus, James and he pretend not to notice Sirius’ dark moods, Sirius, James and he ignore Remus’ short temperedness around full moon.

_After all, if your friends don’t stick by you in times of trouble, what good are they_, James always says. Personally, Peter feels that both Sirius and Remus would make better friends if they kept to themselves when they were feeling particularly bad tempered.

“Well, it’s hard getting a quiet moment together without him hanging about, isn’t it?”

Remus makes a soft sound of frustration. “Perhaps it would be easier if you didn’t spend so much time at Quidditch. The three of us could have planned this then.”

“I do _not_ want to talk about Quidditch,” James says menacingly, in a tone that says he’s said all he means to on the subject. “And if you’ve any better ideas, I’d love to hear them. But until you do, this is what we’re doing.”

“Where am I supposed to store that lot during Full?”

“In the cupboard you keep the rest of your things in,” James says impatiently.

“Just how big do you think that cupboard is, Prongs? It’s only large enough for my clothes and wand. I won’t be able to get it shut with the amount of stuff you’re writing down.”

“Then do it the day after Full, if you’re so concerned,” James says impatiently. Remus widens his eyes at James in an ‘are you out of your mind’ expression. “Look, Moony, this is for _Padfoot_. It _has_ to be something spectacular, you know he’d do the same for any one of us. Anyway, we’re sticking to the rules. I thought you’d _like_ that, if we were good little Gryffindors who played by the rules.”

Remus continues to frown, his sharp blue eyes locking with James’ hazel ones, both of them determined not to look away.

“You’re only sticking to the _rules_ because you don’t want to jeopardise you precious Quidditch victory,” Remus says, in a low snarl.

“We’ll all be there, Moony,” Peter offers. “We can make sure the wolf doesn’t get near the things.” Remus and James are still staring at one another across the table, ignoring him. “Or, we could do something less elaborate on the actual day, and really celebrate on the Hogsmeade weekend.” He wishes they’d stop glaring at one another – he’s not sure how to make them stop. _Sirius would know what to do_. “We’ll need to decide before Padfoot gets back.” Snape gets up to walk past the stacks that Sirius is hiding in. “Lads. Look.”

Remus and James break eye contact long enough to look at where Snape has walked off to, peering down the Divination aisle in a manner that he probably imagines is the height of subtlety. As soon as Snape returns to his table, Sirius re-emerges from the aisle, with James’ satchel over his shoulder.

“You left you satchel back at the dorm, you dozy git,” Sirius says, smiling as he unloads James’ satchel. He doesn’t need to look to know that the Invisibility Cloak is carefully folded and back in place inside. Remus glances toward the satchel as James reaches for it and stows it under his seat, with a petty ‘so there’ expression. Right. If Remus can’t use the cloak, it’s to be Peter’s turn to hide in the stacks next.

Rosier and Snape are conversing softly and rapidly at the Slytherin study table. Rosier points at the aisle imperiously, and both Wilkes and Avery leave to investigate. It is twenty minutes before a very dusty Avery and an even dustier Wilkes emerge from the aisle. Rosier raises an eyebrow at them, and they both shrug in response. Sirius catches Rosier’s eye and winks at him. Rosier’s expression turns carefully blank.

“I’m hungry,” he says after a couple of minutes, when it looks as though the Slytherins are about to pack up and leave. Food is not exactly banned in the Library, although getting it on the books, or eating it is. It’s a small loophole, but the four of them have studied the school’s rules extensively.

James loudly shuffles bits of parchment to locate the Map and hands it to him, Snape’s dark eyes never leaving the bit of parchment as it changes hands. He makes a show of reading over it carefully as Remus starts to laugh. Sirius nudges Remus with an elbow, causing him to laugh harder.

Placing the Map back on the table, he nods meaningfully at James and makes his way to the same stacks.

Once Peter reaches the end of the stacks, he transforms and squeezes himself under one of the shelves as he hears footsteps approaching. The bark of laughter he can hear from behind tells him that Sirius has noticed that Rosier has left his table to investigate personally.

As odd as it is, he should be grateful to Lily Evans for forbidding James to hex Snape. Peter isn’t much good at duelling, but this kind of elaborate baiting – this is something he knows very well, and for the first time has been able to contribute to their pranking of the Slytherins in a significant way. The footsteps become louder, and he recognises Rosier’s glossy, polished boots as they near.

He would grin, if his mouth were the correct shape, as Rosier extends his arms and walks up and down the aisle. The invisibility cloak is a closely kept secret, but Rosier isn’t completely stupid and probably suspects a Concealment Charm or something similar. This should convince him that he has managed to somehow leave the Library by walking down this aisle.

As Rosier reaches the end of the aisle on his way out, Peter pulls himself out from under the shelf and transforms back, quickly pulling some of that morning’s toast out of his pocket. Rosier turns at the noise, staring at him with wide eyes. The Slytherin is just outside the aisle, so Sirius, James and Remus should have a perfect view of the open shock on Rosier’s face. Soft, snorting laughter from beyond the books confirms this.

“Eating in the Library, Pettigrew?” Snape sneers, appearing behind Rosier.

Peter grips the napkin wrapped around the toast tightly, making sure that none of the butter or sugar gets on his fingers, wondering how he’s going to get out of the aisle with Rosier blocking his way.

“Let him by, both of you. There’s no rule against bringing food into the Library,” Remus says quietly, from behind both Rosier and Snape. The two Slytherins turn around to glare at Remus, distracted enough to let him slip past. Once Peter’s clear, Remus turns and walks back to their desk with him.

“Why is he bringing food into the Library if he isn’t going to eat it, then?” Snape demands, following after them.

Peter quickens his pace to get back to James’ side, but Remus refuses to hurry himself for either Snape or Rosier’s benefit. Reaching the table, Remus picks up the bit of parchment he was writing on earlier and holds it up so Snape can read ‘Five points from Slytherin for disturbing other students’.

The little blood there is left in Snape’s face vanishes as he pales with fury. “You wait Lupin, you filthy, Mudblood sc-”

Even before the words are fully out of Snape’s mouth, Remus has the presence of mind to bring his free hand down hard onto Sirius’ shoulder to prevent the other boy from rising and interfering. From where Peter is sitting, Sirius’ expression looks murderous, and Rosier and Snape are probably only still there because they can’t see it.

Satisfied that Sirius isn’t going to stand, Remus simply smiles at Snape and Rosier before lowering the parchment and raising it again. Another five points from Slytherin. James laughs.

_Want to try for twenty, Snivelly?_ Peter passes Remus a quill, and Remus scratches out ‘five’ and writes ‘thirty’, making sure the Slytherins can see him. Turning back, he raises his eyebrows in polite inquiry. Both of them snarl in disgust, Snape promises he’ll make them pay, and then all four Slytherins are gathering their things and storming out of the library.

“Do you suppose that counts as provocation?” James asks belligerently, twirling his wand between his fingers. Remus glares at him, clearly remembering their earlier argument.

“Let’s get out of here,” Sirius says, glancing up at Remus, “before I burst out laughing and have us all thrown out.”

As soon as they reach the library door and are out of sight of Madam Pince, they run smack into Rosier’s gang. James scowls and draws his wand. Sirius does the same, putting himself between Rosier and Peter. All eight of them have their wands out and trained on one another, as Rosier’s lot back away slowly and silently. _Back to your dungeon, where you belong._

Almost as soon as they are gone, Lily Evans and Marlene McKinnon turn the corner to face the four of them with their wands out. James’ hand blurs as he tucks his wand out of sight.

“You’ll have him trained yet,” Marlene says to Lily, as the other girl holds the door open.

“Lupin,” Lily calls, as Remus adjusts the shoulder strap of his satchel. Remus looks up at Lily politely, unaware that James is glaring at him with narrowed eyes. “Could I have a word?”


	9. February 1977 (Remus)

He hopes Lily is nearing the end of her lecture.

“You never try to stop them. I thought you’d finally said something, because this has been the first sign of trouble this year.”

Actually, it isn’t. Sirius and James have simply become better at not getting caught. Sirius doesn’t want to spend time in detention with James when he could be spending it with Remus, and James doesn’t want to give Lily an excuse not to go out with him.

“You _are_ a Prefect,” she continues. “It’s not all about making sure the first years don’t get lost on their first day.”

“If I stopped them,” he begins, “or _tried_ to stop them, then they’d just leave me out of their plotting and continue the scrapping behind my back. At least this way, they don’t hide anything from me, and I can still put a stop to it if things get really bad.”

“And how bad would things have to get,” she says archly, “before you decided to intervene?” He suppresses another jet of rage. _It’s not as though they’re my responsibility_, he thinks, hating himself. _They should know better by now, too. Why do **I** always have to be the adult?_ She glances over at where Marlene is waiting impatiently. “Just a word of warning. Everyone – including the Professors – knows that Black’s birthday comes before the next Hogsmeade weekend. I overheard some talk in the staff room, and I’d be careful about sneaking out to Hogsmeade, if I were you.”

He smiles politely and tells her that he will keep her warning in mind.

Leaving the library and turning the corner, he’s surprised to see Sirius waiting for him. Surprised, because Sirius hates – equally – waiting, being kept waiting, and knowing that he’s making other people wait.

“This isn’t about our fighting Rosier’s lot again, is it?” Sirius asks, smiling at him.

“Isn’t it always?” he replies, with an answering smile. “Where’re Prongs and Wormtail?”

“They’ve gone back to the dorm. Listen, you said you wanted to finish your Transfiguration essay, and I know you didn’t get much of a chance up there. Want some help with it?”

“I - ” he starts to say, just as one of the Hogwarts’ Post Owls lands on his shoulder with a letter he’s been expecting from London for more than a week.

_At last_. The contents of the letter will determine in his mind whether they spend Sirius’ birthday in Hogsmeade or in London. _Regardless of what Prongs has planned._

“All right,” he says, watching a smile spread across Sirius’ lips. “I thought you’d had enough of studying for one day, though. You didn’t want to stay in the library.”

“You were starting to look a little fed up,” Sirius says, still smiling but now with concern showing. “I thought it would be better if we left. Was I wrong?”

“No,” he says, amazed again at how easily Sirius can read him sometimes. He wishes he could do something as simple as reach over and take Sirius’ hand in his own as they walk back to Gryffindor Tower. “I’d better take this owl back to the Owlery.”

“I’ll do it,” Sirius says, reaching for it after Remus retrieves the letter. “I’ll meet you in the Common Room?”

“You’re checking up on Stella again, aren’t you?” he calls after Sirius who grins as he turns away.

For once, he doesn’t feel the familiar surge of jealousy he always does at Sirius’ devotion to his owl. At least with Sirius out of the way for a bit, the rest of them will have a few minutes to discuss his birthday. Racing back to the dormitory, he glances about the Common Room for James and Peter. Not finding them there, he mounts the stairs to the sixth year dormitory.

“Padfoot’s gone to the Owlery,” he says. “Shall we discuss what we’re going to - ”

“What did Evans want with you?” James demands.

“She warned me about sneaking into Hogsmeade for Padfoot’s birthday things,” he says, knowing better than to waste his time passing on a lecture about fighting with the Slytherins. “Said she overheard something in the staff-room about - ”

“It took her that long to tell you that? You’ve been gone for more than fifteen minutes!”

“Honestly Prongs, I don’t want to know that you’ve been timing how long I’ve been away. Listen, Padfoot will be back any minute, can we please discuss - ”

“There’s nothing to discuss!” James yells. “Stop changing the subject! You already have your instructions.” The letter in his hand crumples as he forms a fist. _My **instructions**? Fuck you, Potter. We were all in Hogsmeade yesterday, if it was so bloody important, why didn’t you buy the things yourself?_ “Why would Evans talk to _you_ and not to me, if that was all it was about?”

“Perhaps because Lily,” he says, using her first name deliberately, “can’t stand the sight of you.”

“Yeah? Well at least she agrees with me about not sneaking into Hogsmeade. After last night, I don’t want - ”

“This is about Gudgeon and Morphew isn’t it? What’s bothering you, Prongs? The fact that they got caught having sex? Or the fact that they’re having sex, and that you’re not?”

He’s never seen James more furious. Peter is murmuring something conciliatory in the background, but for once, he’s not interested.

“You could at least have warned them!”

“I never even _saw_ them! It wasn’t as though _I_ was the one who gave them detention.”

“No, but you gave Richardson three nights’ detention last week for duelling with a Ravenclaw!”

“I gave _both_ Richardson _and_ Merridew detention and they _both_ deserved it,” he says through gritted teeth.

_And that bitch can expect more of the same if she so much as **thinks** about fouling Sirius off his broom in future._

“Fine then,” James spits, in a tone that makes it clear that things are far from fine. “You have the list of what we need to get from Zonko’s and from the Apothecary. _Try_ and make time for it while you’re lounging about the Shack.”

James still hasn’t told him what the curious list of ingredients is for, and he refuses to ask out of sheer bloody mindedness. Without waiting to find out whether he will agree to the request, James sweeps out of the dorm with Peter in his wake.

He has to restrain himself from flinging the balled-up list at the door after James. Normally, he’d be able to have a quiet word in Sirius’ ear about pulling James into line, as he has been doing these last two months…

_Can’t do that for his birthday, though, can I? Not when it’s supposed to be a surprise._

Sirius turns up not long after. “Hey Moony,” Sirius says, as he shuts the door behind him. He tries not to jump in alarm and casually slips the letter into his pocket. “Saw Prongs and Wormtail in the corridor, they’re on their way to lunch. Did you - ”

“I did _not_ deliberately set up Gudgeon and Morphew to get caught, all right? I know I’ve said you spend too much bloody time on the Quidditch pitch, but I didn’t _sabotage_ your practice today, and if you don’t believe me then you can - ”

“Is that what this is all about?” Sirius asks, looking amused. “I was going to ask if you wanted to go to lunch as well, but I think you’ve probably had enough of Prongs for one day.” Sirius flops onto Remus’ bed, summoning Remus’ satchel and pulling out his Transfiguration materials. “Come and sit next to me,” Sirius invites, patting the coverlet to his left. “Show me what you’re having trouble with.”

_You. It’s you I’m having trouble with. What am I doing wrong? Why don’t you want to do anything with me_?

“I can understand the theory,” he says, watching Sirius flip through the pages of his textbook, frowning in confusion. _You probably don’t even know what chapter we’re up to, it’s not as if you ever read the bloody thing_. “But I can’t make it work in practice.”

“Can’t make what work in practice? You did all right on Thursday, Transfiguring your tortoise into a hare and back again.”

“I want to know how to turn you into an incoherent, writhing puddle of mush,” he says. “I know how to go about it in theory, but I’m not having much luck in practice. So I thought perhaps you could tell me what I’m doing wrong, and what I should be trying to get it to work.”

Sirius stares at him.

“Because clearly I _am_ doing something wrong,” he continues, wishing that Sirius would stop looking at him like that and give some sign of encouragement.

“Is this because I didn’t get you anything for Valentine’s day?”

_Stop avoiding answering me_. He knows when someone else is trying it on – he’s done it plenty of times himself, after all. “Why won’t you tell me what you want from me?”

“Because you’ll laugh at me,” Sirius says, so softly he almost doesn’t hear it.

“I won’t laugh at you,” he promises, rolling Sirius onto his back and climbing onto him, letting the other boy feel how hard he is. “I’ve _never_ laughed at you. Not about anything important.”

“You laughed when I tried to lick your eye.”

“I _said_ about anything important,” he says, smiling slightly.

“You’re laughing at me now,” Sirius says, turning away as though he can’t bear to see Remus, or to have Remus see him.

“You’re wrong,” he says, leaning down and nudging at Sirius’ forehead with his own until Sirius turns to face him again. “I actually am _not_ laughing at you right now, Padfoot.” _It’s last month all over again_, he thinks for the second time that day as he feels his heart drop. _Come on Black, give me **something** to work with. It takes two to tango, after all_. “What are you afraid of?” he asks gently, feeling Sirius start to shake underneath him. “I won’t be able to do it unless you say…are you ashamed of anything?”

Sirius has his eyes closed, but he nods. _Stop it Lupin, you’re frightening him._

But he can’t let it drop, not when he’s this close to getting an answer out of the other boy. _It doesn’t count as ‘not pushing you’ when I just want you to answer my questions. I’m not making you do anything you don’t want to do_.

“What are you ashamed of?” he asks, keeping his tone mild and trying to disguise his inner panic.

_It’ll end in disaster, just like last month. Why am I even bothering? We’re never going to have sex – you’re probably saving yourself for whichever insipid pure-blood daughter your dear Mother has picked out for you, and what we have between us will be nothing but an awkward memory. I should cut my losses before I ruin what’s left of our friendship._

“I… The things I… What we…”

_You can’t even say the words, can you? And it’s all right, it is, but **we** can’t be together unless you can. I can’t do this again, there’s no **way** you’ll calm down enough to let me fuck you before Full when you can’t even bring yourself to be naked around me._

“It’s all right,” he murmurs, placing his hands on either side of Sirius’ head and rubbing his face against Sirius’. “There’s nothing to be scared of,” he continues, realising that he’s using the voice he normally affects for soothing stupid first years and hoping that Sirius hasn’t noticed, too.

He’s about to tell Sirius that the other boy shouldn’t feel he has to answer, because in a few minutes, he’s going to do what’s best for both of them and end things _again_.

But Sirius chooses just that instant to raise his head slightly, just enough to capture Remus’ lips with his own, and Sirius’ arms are around him preventing him from lifting himself away, and Sirius’ legs are parted slightly, so that he can rest his legs between Sirius’ and Sirius’ groin is _right underneath_ his own.

“Padfoot…”

But it’s impossible to be sensible and logical and _proper_ when that first kiss transports him to a drowsy, drugged state that never fails to stand time on its head or remind him exactly why being with hesitant, fumbling Sirius Black is so much _better_ than being with anybody else.

He far prefers hearing the soft, gasping sighs Sirius makes when he is being kissed just before he remembers to breathe through his nose to hearing the wail of _any_one else pleading to be fucked, to be fucked now and to be fucked hard.

He would _much_ rather feel the way Sirius’ whole body jumps when their cocks rub together through multiple layers of robes and trousers and pants, than plunge himself balls-deep into any other body, no matter how warm or willing.

And the way Sirius’ hands stroke him, slow him, calm him, remove all urgency from the way they come together, and force him to concentrate on the journey rather than fret about the destination… He will take that any time, a thousand times, over racing to achieve orgasm with any one else.

Any time, that is, except for just before Full… because _just before Full_, his treacherous body tells him that if Sirius’ pretty sighs are so sweet to hear, then surely it would be even _sweeter_ to hear Sirius cry out, begging to be fucked, and to be fucked immediately. That surely, _surely_, if Sirius’ lithe form responds so obediently when their groins touch through layers of cloth, then how much more responsive it will be, how much _more_ it will squirm when he flattens his chest against Sirius’ back and slides his cock into Sirius’ arse.

It doesn’t help that he already knows that as pleasant as the journey is, the destination – coming hard, with the scent of Sirius in his nostrils – is a thousand times better when the other boy finally allows them to reach it.

_Like now, just like that, just like_ – He starts to say something to Sirius, to warn him, or to find out if Sirius is there yet, but before he can form the words, he’s crying out and rolling his hips forward, grinding the younger boy back against the bed, and fighting for breath.

“Padfoot, are you - ” he starts to say, as Sirius twists underneath him and bucks up, almost as if he wants to wrap his legs around Remus’, _pushing_ against Remus as he comes. “Padfoot? All right?”

“Mmm,” Sirius says sleepily, looking as though he’s about to fall asleep right there and then. “M’fine.”

He reaches instinctively for the collar of Sirius’ robes – it’s not the first time he’ll have undressed Sirius in his sleep, and with Sirius half-asleep as he is now, with that lovely, drowsy smile on his face…

“Hey!” Sirius says, sounding startled and reaching for Remus’ fingers with one hand, swiping them away.

“You said that Wormtail and Prongs went to lunch,” he reminds Sirius, slipping a finger between the collar of Sirius’ under-robe and Sirius’ throat, bending forward to claim the other’s boy’s mouth.

“Yes, but…” Sirius gasps, filling his lungs with air when he can. _Which would I choose if the choice were mine – kissing you forever, uninterrupted? Or pulling away so I can see you flushed and panting like this?_ “They’re probably bringing lunch back up here.”

As if on cue, the door opens as James strides back in, again with Peter in his wake, laden down with all manner of foodstuffs.

_Oh, for God’s sake_!

The door slamming open nearly gave him a heart attack, and that’s before he realises that he’s still straddling Sirius, and both of them are out of breath. Before James or Peter can so much as _think_ about asking what’s been happening, Sirius turns his head to the door.

“I want it known,” Sirius says, glaring accusingly at Peter and James, “that I was _winning_ before the pair of you barged in.”

“You make it sound like it’s their fault,” he says, ignoring the other two, trying not to stammer, and focusing intently on thinking of a way out of this. One that hopefully won’t involve giving up his seat on Sirius’ stomach.

“It _is_ their fault,” Sirius says haughtily. “I was winning before the door opened. Get off, you’re _crushing_ me.”

“Say you’ll help me with my Transfiguration essay first,” he replies, finally seeing a way out of it. Sirius glares back stubbornly. _Good boy, stretch this out_. He grinds back against Sirius, making the other boy twitch underneath him. “_Say_ it, and I’ll let you go!”

“No! You should have bloody paid attention in class instead of - ”

“You heard him, Moony,” Peter says with a laugh.

The next thing he is aware of is that there are two more boys on the bed than strictly necessary, and more importantly, he is being pulled off Sirius who doesn’t even have the decency to look apologetic, and it’s _his_ bed – _God damn it_ – which Peter kicks him out of.

“You owe me, Padfoot,” James says, grinning as he and Sirius move off the bed. He glares at Peter, who shoots a nervous look at James before hopping off his bed, as well.

“No, I don’t,” Sirius says, grinning back while straightening his robes. “I never asked you to intervene.”

“What were you going to do, smarm your way out from under Moony?” James asks. “You can’t tell me you could have thrown him off on your own.”

“I had everything under control,” Sirius says, looking supremely unconcerned.

James raises a pair of disbelieving eyebrows, but smiles anyway. “Yeah? Then you owe me for carting lunch all the way up from the kitchens for you.” Sirius opens his mouth, but James has already anticipated what he’ll say. “And don’t give me that ‘I’m not hungry’ rubbish. I’m not sitting through another week of listening to your stomach growling while I try to study.”

Giving up, he turns away from the pair of them, grateful for the fact that his Transfiguration textbook is still open on the bed. _At least we look slightly more convincing that way_, he thinks, before he is struck with the realisation that he could have been straddling Sirius naked, and James and Peter still wouldn’t believe that they’d been snogging.

_Of course they wouldn’t believe it_, he thinks, cursing himself for being such a stupid, stupid idiot. _Who in their right mind would believe that someone like Sirius Black would fancy someone like me? I can hardly believe it myself, some days._

As he shovels his materials into his scrip, he glances over at where James and Sirius are sitting side by side on the floor. Opening the wrapped packages simultaneously, Sirius pulls all of the cucumber out of his sandwiches and dumps it on Peter’s share while James does the same with the beetroot in his.

_He’s forgotten about me already_, he thinks bitterly, watching Sirius fold over with laughter at something James says.

“Moony?” He turns, having forgotten Peter. _Was he watching me watch Sirius?_ “Where are you going?”

“I want to get my Transfiguration essay done sometime today,” he says. “If none of the lot of you are going to help me, I’m off to the Shack.”

It will be early – Madam Pomfrey won’t be expecting to have to fetch him until later tonight, but he’s had more than he can stand of being near Sirius and not being able to touch him.

_Why can’t the two of you stay in the Common Room instead of having to tramp back here all the time?_

He’s aware that the thought is unfair – since the four of them became firm friends, the dormitory is the only place in the Castle the four of them can plot in peace, as well as being the only place none of the other students or Professors strictly have any right to be.

_But that was before we started to have secrets from one another, wasn’t it_?

“Perhaps it’s for the best,” Peter says, flinching as Remus reaches for a few days’ worth of clothing and then slams his trunk shut. “This way you’ll be in Hogsmeade well before Full. Prongs and I could come and visit before Full and get the things.”

_I don’t even know what they’re for_, he rages, furious at having been left out of the planning for his boyfriend’s birthday surprise present.

But what he says is, “Yes, the timing couldn’t be better.” Smiling tightly, he lifts his scrip and slings it over his shoulder.

“Where are you off to?” Sirius asks curiously, starting to stand up and brushing crumbs from his robes.

_Are you as sticky and itchy under those robes as I am, Padfoot?_

“I need to do my essay,” he says. “I thought I’d have better luck on my own in the Shack than here with the three of you raising the roof.”

“See you at Full then, Moony,” James says, covering a yawn behind one hand. “Let us know if you need anyth- You’re not going with him are you?” This is addressed to Sirius, who appears next to him with a bag hanging from one shoulder.

“I promised Moony I’d help him with his essay if he pinned me,” Sirius says calmly, not sounding in the least embarrassed that he was beaten.

_Then again, you probably think that fighting with your hands is something only Mudbloods do, don’t you?_

“Really?” he says, trying not to sound surprised. “You’ll help me?”

“Of course I’ll help you,” Sirius says with a reassuring smile.

“Don’t be bloody stupid, Padfoot. We can’t risk having you caught out of bounds. Wormtail, you can go with Moony,” James says.

He knows that James is trying to keep Sirius in the dormitory so that Peter can accompany him to Hogsmeade and bring back the ingredients they need for…whatever the hell it is James has planned for Sirius’ birthday. But even _so_… He’s just had the prospect of having Sirius to himself dangled in front of his nose and he isn’t going to let it be snatched away as simply as that.

_Besides, as it happens some of us have our own plans for Sirius’ birthday_. He tries to remember whether or not he packed the letter he received from London with the rest of his things in the scrip.

“Oh, give it a rest, Prongs,” Sirius says, surprising both James and Remus. “I won’t be long. Come on, Moony,” Sirius finishes, gripping one of his elbows and hauling him out the door.

“I should let Madam Pomfrey know,” he says softly, once they are through the portrait. Checking both sides of the corridor, they take a moment to use _lavo_ to clean one another, and Sirius smiles in grateful relief. “I’ll meet you at the Witch,” he says, referring to the statue of the one-eyed, humpbacked witch in the alcove in the middle of the third floor corridor.

Madam Pomfrey fusses over the fact that he’s leaving for the Shack earlier than normal. _For God’s sake, I’m fine. I only seem anxious because I want to be able to snog my boyfriend in peace_. For all of her concern however, she only detains him long enough to examine him before sending him on with a smile.

As he returns to the statue, he can see Sirius and Regulus talking to one another in low voices. Both of them are engrossed in their conversation – _too_ engrossed to notice him.

“ – new powers for the Aurors,” Regulus says. “I can’t work it out. The pattern doesn’t fit, there _must_ be another candidate for Minister of Magic if Crouch Senior wants to control the Aurors directly.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Sirius replies. “Crouch and Bones are the only two anywhere near qualified to be Minister.”

“No, there’s Bagnold.”

“Who?”

“_Bagnold_, Sirius. Her daughter was Quidditch captain for your House before –” Regulus stops with an impatient hiss. “Honestly, I don’t know why I’m bothering even _asking_ you if you can’t - ”

“Well, _don’t_ ask me, then. Go ask Mother what to do,” Sirius snaps. Regulus pales, looking shocked, and Sirius is already reaching a soothing hand out to him. “It’s all right. I didn’t mean that. We can work out an appropriate response.”

“_When_?” Regulus says, sounding near panic. “You said you’d talk to me later, but you disappeared from the library without saying anything, earlier. I have to send the letters out before - ”

“_Stop it_,” Sirius says sharply. “You don’t _have_ to do anything, all right? You represent the House of Black now. You’ll do things when you’re ready and not according to anyone else’s timetable. Is this something Mother wants you to do?” Regulus shakes his head. “Then stop _worrying_. She’s the only one you have to defer to.”

“Can we do it today, though?” Regulus says, sounding slightly pleading.

“All right,” Sirius says slowly. “I’ll meet you in the library at four.” He checks his watch. It is almost half past one. “But you’re not to send the letters out before Tuesday, all right? Don’t let them push you around.”

There is something darkly amusing about the fact that Sirius has to bully Regulus into not letting others bully him.

“Thank you,” Regulus says, his expression flooding with relief. “I’ll see you th- ”

They both turn then to see him waiting a polite distance away. _Well the game’s up, isn’t it_? He starts towards them.

“Good afternoon, Lupin,” Regulus says politely.

From what Sirius has explained to him of the Byzantine pure-blood social courtesies his family subscribes to, Regulus has done him some sort of a favour by addressing him before he addresses Regulus. When it becomes clear that he isn’t about to reply, Regulus smiles and excuses himself. Sirius is frowning slightly, but there is an amused smile on his lips.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he snaps irritably. “I fail to see why I should be polite to the little shit just because the two of you have kissed and made up.”

“He’s not little, he’s taller than you are,” Sirius says, laughing. “Anyway, he was just trying to be polite.”

“It’s long overdue, wouldn’t you say?” he says, annoyed at the indulgent expression Sirius is wearing.

Sometimes he really wants to smack Sirius for being so unwilling to see how awful the rest of his family is. _Your brother pointed his wand at me in a public place and called me a Mudblood for everyone to hear. If you honestly think that I’m going to let that pass just because he needs a favour from you and is pretending to have found his manners, then you can – _

“Shall we?” Sirius asks, indicating the statue of the one-eyed witch with a nod.

“Shall we what?” he snaps, trying not to snarl. “It’ll take nearly an hour to walk to Hogsmeade and just as long for you to walk back.” Sirius looks at him in surprise. _Do you think I’ve gone deaf_? “It won’t do to keep precious little baby brother waiting, will it? Even though he’s supposed to be the heir now.”

He still doesn’t know what Sirius’ mother is playing at – in his more generous moments, he suspects she’s Aged Regulus to make the younger – the _then_ younger boy – the target, in order to keep Sirius safe. But that doesn’t make any sense, because Sirius has always maintained that of the two of them, it is Regulus that their mother favours.

“He needs my help,” Sirius says, not bothering to deny the meeting he’s arranged. Worse still, Sirius doesn’t offer to postpone it. _No, that’s fine, drop everything for him. I was the one you had plans with first. I’m only your boyfriend, after all, not anyone important._ “Moony,” Sirius starts to say.

“Oh don’t bother,” he says, trying not to sound fed up. “Something else would have come up. I can never seem to get you alone.” _And you never do anything to help me_, he thinks, feeling rage build up inside him again. _I wish James and Peter would stop interrupting and leave us in peace._

“They don’t know abut us, Moony,” Sirius says softly. He realises he must have spoken his thoughts on Peter and James aloud.

“Then they should know,” he says. As he speaks, he sees Sirius frown and move so that he can look down the corridor behind Remus. He does the same, positioning himself so he can see past Sirius. Anyone approaching will be seen well before they have a chance to overhear anything that is said.

Especially since Sirius appears intent on _whispering_ everything.

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” he replies fiercely. “We should tell them and that way we wouldn’t have to creep around and hide from them.”

“I’m - ”

“ – ashamed of me, I know,” he says, trying to keep his voice gentle, but feeling the anger bubble up.

“I’m _not_ ashamed of you,” Sirius says. “All I said was that I - ” Looking past him, Sirius frowns. “Do you mind?” he calls over Remus’ shoulder.

He turns to see Snape smirking at them from one end of the corridor.

“I wasn’t aware my standing here was offending anyone,” Snape says smoothly.

“Don’t say it,” he says quickly, as Sirius’ frown starts to deepen. “Remember me? Your _boyfriend_,” he says softly. Sirius flinches. “Finish what you were going to say.”

“I’m not ashamed of you.”

“No, I suppose not. But you’re ashamed of wanting me,” he says, keeping his voice low. Sirius glances away, making the gesture look as though he is keeping an eye on Snape. “I don’t want a boyfriend who’s ashamed of wanting me,” he says decisively. _I should have ended this before it came to this. Lupin you idiot, you could have done it a thousand times this year – upstairs, last week, last month, after you kissed him the first time… This is going nowhere._

“Moony - ”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he says. “Either get over - ” _I can’t say that_. He was about to tell Sirius to ‘get over his fear’, but that would be forcing Sirius into something he wasn’t ready for, wouldn’t it? _But I can’t stay faithful to you when you put James or your family before me. You can’t ask me to give up everything and give me nothing in return_. “This isn’t working,” he says softly. “We can’t talk about it here, can we?” Sirius shakes his head, never taking his eyes off Snape. _You could at least look upset_, he thinks furiously.

“No, we can’t. Do you want me to come with you?”

“What would be the point? There’s nothing to discuss.” And still, Sirius’ expression doesn’t change. _He’s not going to talk you out of it, look at him – he doesn’t even care_. “Don’t come after me.” _I don’t think I need to know that it’s only after you’ve taken care of Regulus and James and Peter that you could do with my company._

“All right,” Sirius says casually, as though Remus hasn’t asked for anything more onerous than the loan of a couple of Sickles. Before he can say anything further, Sirius walks away.

“Going on vacation, Lupin?” Snape asks, indicating his scrip.

“Why do you ask?”

“Oh no reason,” Snape says sarcastically. He hopes the other boy doesn’t intend to draw his wand on him – of the four of them, only Sirius and James can out-duel Snape, and only Sirius can do it on a regular basis. “Just that you were down for Patrol this coming Tuesday, but you switched to yesterday night. Shame you weren’t able to prevent Gudgeon and Morphew from receiving a week’s detention.”

“I’m sure it was no more than they deserved,” he replies coolly, hating the other boy for his incessant interference.

“And you’re all packed to go somewhere,” Snape continues, ignoring his attempted diversion. Coming nearer, Snape casually insinuates himself between Remus and the statue of the witch. Leaning back and resting his arm on the witch’s hump back, Snape looks up at him again. “Sorry, was there something you wanted?”

“No,” he says tightly, certain now that Snape intends to guard the statue, denying Remus the use of it even if he can’t work out its secret himself. “There’s nothing I want from you.”

Turning on his heel, he walks rapidly before Snape has a chance to lose interest in the statue and follow him. Climbing the steps to the fourth floor, he makes his way to the room with the mirror. He reaches a hand into his scrip to ensure he has the letter from London.

_Yes. Good._

He’s determined to go ahead with his own plans for Sirius’ birthday if for no more reason than to annoy James. Checking once more to make sure there is no one nearby, or spying, he slides the mirror to one side. Stepping into the passage behind it, he lets the mirror slide shut and starts off for Hogsmeade.

Alone.


	10. February 1977 (Sirius)

“See?” Regulus says, pointing at the front of the Daily Prophet. “I keep telling you it’s not going to be Crouch Senior. He’s too _young_, even Barty admits his father’s better off waiting another ten years. He’s going for the Head of Magical Law Enforcement.”

“That still doesn’t tell us anything conclusive about Millicent Bagnold,” he says, flipping through the pages, searching for a clue.

“She’s not all that high profile, I’ll grant you. But she’s easily a hundred times better than Crouch and Bones, both. There won’t be much of a contest, she’ll romp it in.” He must still be looking disbelieving, because Regulus continues, saying, “It’s fairly well known that she intends to run. In the right circles, at least.”

“Those’d be your circles, would they?”

“Of course,” Regulus says, grinning. “They could be yours again, too.”

“I’m sure they could,” he says politely, folding the Prophet and handing it back to Regulus.

The only way to keep up with what’s happening at the Ministry is to have these daily conversations with Regulus, when he helps his brother interpret the events reported in the Daily Prophet. More and more, though, Regulus is able to put the pieces together faster than he is, since his brother has access to information that he no longer does.

“Chocolate sponge at every meeting. All you have to do is ask Mother’s forgiveness. Regardless of what she might be sending in your letters, she’ll be more than happy to have you back, she’s just too stubborn to ask.”

_Oh yes? Well, so am I._ “We’ll see.”

“You’ve been saying that for two months. What’ll it take to get you to come back?”

That is not a conversation he wants to have again, and he glances deliberately at his watch, hoping it’s almost time for breakfast.

It’s the morning after the Full moon, and he’s here in the library with his brother rather than at the Shack making sure Remus is all right, because Remus split up with him, again, and expressly forbade him to come to the Shack. He had to stay behind and let Peter and James go ahead without him.

_But that was before Full. It’s after, now. This is the same way it happened last time, isn’t it? He told me he didn’t want anything to do with me before Full, and asked me to forgive him after. It **must** be something to do with the moon._

He’s reluctant to think of the alternative – that it might be something to do with _him._

Can I blame Moony? He knows what my family’s like. Perhaps he doesn’t want to be part of that.

Another part of him thinks that whatever Remus’ problem may be, he surely needn’t have said what he had while Snivellus was looking on. It had taken every part of his concentration to maintain his composure in front of the Slytherin – so much so that he hadn’t really paid much attention to what Remus said.

“Mother knows what I want,” he says instead. “All she has to do - ”

“Yes, yes, I get the idea. I’ll be sure to mention it to her again and get shouted at for my trouble.”

“You make it sound so appealing. Wait while I pack my bags, and we can leave now.”

Regulus thwaps him with the Prophet. “Coming to breakfast?”

“I’m not hungry,” he lies. “Anyway, I have to get ready for class.”

“All right,” Regulus replies, glancing around the study area and paling visibly as Rosier and Avery enter. “Can we go?”

“Don’t. Stand. Up. They’re not chasing us out of here,” he says firmly, cursing himself for not standing sooner. If he does so now, it really _will_ look as if they’re letting themselves be chased out. “If it comes to it, you can handle Avery. Leave Rosier to me.”

“Do you think they know?”

“Know what?” he asks, reaching for a stack of parchment and leafing through it idly.

“If they know who murdered Father,” Regulus says, with a surprising amount of venom in his voice. He looks at Regulus to see that his brother is glaring at Avery, refusing to drop his eyes. Avery glances away first, smiling nervously as he says something to Rosier.

“I doubt it,” he says truthfully. He’s almost certain it was Wilkes’ father and one of the Malfoys who were behind it. _One day_, he thinks, forcing himself to smile lazily at Rosier, _I will be an Auror, and I will track down Wilkes’ parents, and Malfoy, and they will spend the rest of their lives in Azkaban, wishing they never even heard of Voldemort_. “Voldemort’s lot are supposed to be very discreet – they don’t share information outside their ranks.”

“Don’t you think his supporters might know?”

“They might,” he concedes, smiling inwardly as the two Slytherins leave, moving toward the Divination Stacks. The N.E.W.T. level Divination Stacks. “But they wouldn’t get terribly far if everyone of them knew everything else, would they?”

Regulus starts to stand, rapidly putting his things away. Sirius waits a moment, for the look of the thing, and then follows his brother.

“Will you come home in time for your birthday?” Regulus asks as they troop out of the library. “Mother mentioned something about celebrating it properly, even if you were being an intractable idiot.”

That will almost certainly involve a ball or dance of some kind, with invitations sent to ‘suitable’ families. _Let me guess… several eligible daughters from the more noble Houses, lots of clandestine Council whisperings and machinations, all ending with an engagement announcement before the night is over… How can I refuse?_

He’d much rather go dancing at his uncle’s nightclub with Remus. _That’s not looking terribly likely either, is it now_?

“I’ll think about it,” he promises. Regulus looks at him sideways, recognising the evasion for what it is.

“Padfoot!” Up ahead, James is waving at him – at _them_ really, since James isn’t able to tell them apart.

“Yes?” Regulus says smoothly.

“Don’t start,” he warns, elbowing Regulus in the side. James looks exhausted and confused. “_I’m_ the one you want,” he tells James. “Hey!”

Peter reaches into his satchel and pulls out his Arithmancy text. “Yes, this one’s Sirius.”

Regulus smiles, looking amused.

“You’re going to have to wear your Gryffindor scarf at all times,” James says, looking irritated.

“I don’t have a Gryffindor scarf,” Regulus replies.

“Shut up. No one asked you,” James snaps, glaring at him. “Could you run along? We’ve important business to discuss.”

“I’ll let you know what happens,” Regulus says, referring to the letters he’s yet to send. Letters that will detail which policies the House of Black will support, and who their preferred candidate for Minister is.

“What’s happening?” James asks as Regulus saunters away at his leisure.

“I was going to ask you the same thing. Where’s Moony?”

“Hasn’t returned from the Shack yet,” James says, sounding worried. “We stayed until he transformed back, but Wormtail and I got back half an hour ago.”

Neither of them are volunteering to go back, and in actual fact they both look done in. “What happened last night?”

“This is the second Full moon in a row that you haven’t been at, Padfoot.” _Yes? Well maybe if Remus **wanted** me there, I’d be able to – _“It’s harder for a stag to keep a wolf in check. I can’t bite down on his throat and hold him back the way you do. All I can do is fight with him and I hate doing that.”

“Is he all right? Are _you_ all right?”

“I don’t know,” James says gloomily. “_I’m_ fine, but… I hate having to fight with Moony,” he says, running a hand through his hair.

“He’s probably just sleeping it off,” he says, more to reassure Peter and James than anything else. _I wish someone would bloody well reassure **me**_. James nods unconvincingly. Both he and Peter look ready to fall asleep on their feet – Remus probably isn’t much better off.

It’s only when it gets to lunchtime and Remus _still_ hasn’t returned that he starts to really worry. _Okay, so we had a fight the last time I saw him. But this is **important**, he might be badly hurt. _

By the end of classes, he decides he’s not waiting another minute. _It’s not like him to miss classes on the day after Full. He **always** comes back with us._

“You two should get some rest,” he tells Peter and James. “I’ll go and see what’s happening with Moony.” Taking his broom and the Map with him, he manages to get through the Witch and down into the tunnel before Avery and Wilkes can turn the corner into that particular corridor. _Nosy pair. Bet Snivelly tipped them off._

They really can’t afford to lose another passage – that would leave them with only two, one of which will be the Willow, and that’s the most vulnerable one of all. _Anyone_ can see you crossing the grounds to get to it, and it’s only so long before the Invisibility Cloak stops being large enough for the three of them.

Climbing up through Honeydukes, he lets himself out of the shop silently, careful not to alert the owners. They must be sitting down to dinner in their quarters above the shop.

It’s a while before he can enter the Shack. The night after a Full moon, they are normally careful to leave by the tunnel leading from the Willow, because so many people meet outside or near the Shack, discussing the screaming and howling from within. He’s contemptuous that people are curious enough to stand around chatting, but grateful that they are too frightened to investigate further.

Once the street is relatively clear, he lets himself in and races up the stairs to the bedroom.

_Please be all right, Remus. I don’t care if you don’t want to be with me anymore, as long as you’re all right, and safe_.

Once he gets there, though, he feels ridiculous for worrying. Remus is curled up in the bed, resting quietly, and clearly not on the verge of dying.

_Should I wake him? Or should I just go back? He told me not to come after him…but that was before Full._

As he rounds the bed, to check to see whether Remus is injured or not, he is aware for the first time of what the appeal is of watching someone sleep. Remus does it all the time, to him. Used to do it, he corrects himself, sitting on the edge of the bed. Remus’ long, wheat coloured hair is spread across the sterile, white pillow like a sunburst, shining with the little light in the room.

_He looks even more beautiful than he did on Sunday_, he thinks. And it isn’t because this is the first time he’s seeing Remus all week, but because Remus always looks more beautiful after Full. _Like something new made, something only just put together._

Madam Pomfrey’s already been and gone, evident from the bandages wrapped around Remus’ wrists. There might be more, but the skin will heal clean. It always has.

“I’m not dreaming, am I? You’re really here.” He almost jumps off the bed when Remus speaks, the sound is so sudden and loud in the heretofore silence. Remus clears his throat, smiling at him shyly. “I don’t normally feel this tired in dreams.”

“Are you all right? Prongs told me the two of you fought last night.”

“I was trying to find you,” Remus whispers hoarsely. “He wouldn’t let me get away from him. Where were you?”

“You told me not to follow after you.”

“I didn’t mean it for Full.”

“I wasn’t to know.”

“No,” Remus agrees, shaking his head slightly. “You weren’t. Where are Wormtail and Prongs?”

“Sleeping,” he says, wondering what Remus’ admission means. _Did we break up, or did we just fight?_

“And you?”

“I’m probably the best rested of the four of us,” he says. In actual fact he only managed two hours’ sleep last night. As before, he’s spent most of his nights wondering what he could have done to please Remus better, so that Remus would want to be with him again.

“Well, considering we didn’t get any rest last night, that isn’t saying much, is it?” Remus shifts so that he is on one half of the bed. “You should lie down, too.”

“I’m all right.”

“Stubborn,” Remus says, sounding almost fond. “Why did you come now?”

_Because Wormtail and Prongs are knackered and I was the only one left_. “You didn’t come back, Moony. We were worried. Why didn’t you come back sooner?”

“I wanted to. But I was having the most amazing dreams,” Remus replies, sounding slightly embarrassed. “I was so tired, it was just easier to go back to sleep whenever I woke up. That’s how I knew I wasn’t dreaming any more just now.”

“Because you feel tired?”

“Because you’re wearing quite a bit more than you normally do when you appear in my dreams.” He can feel his face starting to burn as he works out what sort of dreams Remus must mean. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“I don’t mind,” he says, meaning it.

“I shouldn’t have said those things,” Remus says softly. “I just… I almost never have you to myself. I thought I finally had you, for Sunday at least, but you just…there were so many other things.”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Remus’ eyes look impossibly blue against the white of his face. Those sea-green eyes tend to change colour from grey to blue to green depending on what Remus is standing in front of or wearing. _I could spend the rest of my life trying to work out how your eyes change colour like that_, he thinks, placing a hand on Remus’ face and stroking a thumb over his cheekbone.

“No, _I_ am. I didn’t want to wake up and go back to the Castle. Once I got there, I knew you wouldn’t be mine anymore. If I stayed here, I could pretend you were still mine.”

_Would you rather I left, so that you can sleep and dream about fucking me rather than have this conversation?_

“I didn’t think you still wanted me.” He gives in and stretches out on the bed, facing Remus. Tucking his hands underneath his head, he asks, “What happens now?”

_I **want** to let you fuck me_, he thinks, watching Remus close his eyes to think. _You make me want it so much whenever you put your hands on me, whenever you kiss me, but I need you to love me first._

“I was hoping we could start again.”

“What’s the point of starting again,” he says as gently as he can, “if we’re just going to make all the same mistakes? I know I’m good at Transfiguration, but I’m sure the spell hasn’t been invented yet that would turn me into the perfect boyfriend at the flick of a wand.”

_Tell me why you broke up with me, please. Tell me what I’m doing wrong. Tell me you love me._

“I like you just as you are, Padfoot. So much so, I wish I could have more of you more often.”

_Aha._

“Then I’ll make time. I never… You know you’re my first boyfriend. My first anything, really.” He will never grow tired of the way Remus’ face seems to light up from within when he says those words. “I don’t know how much time I _should_ be spending with you, or keeping aside for you, or…”

“I’m sorry, Padfoot. I know I haven’t been very patient.” Remus closes his eyes, not saying anything for a moment.

“This is the second time in as many months, Moony,” he says softly, hesitantly. “Has it anything to do with the moon?”

“Not everything about me ties in with the phases of the moon, Padfoot,”

As much as he was hoping he could attribute this to Remus’ monthly bad-temperedness, at least he now knows how to fix things.

Easily fixed if he agrees to this… Once again, there is the briefest temptation to make Remus beg, but immediately on top of that the realisation that yes, he could make Remus beg or he could have Remus back right now and all the injured pride and broken heartedness of the past four days simply fades into insignificance compared to the fact that Remus is hurt, apologetic and wants him back.

_Is this what it’s like to be in love? Doing anything and everything you can for the one you love, no matter what it costs you in heartache or pride, just to see them happy? Surely if you loved me in return, you wouldn’t let it hurt me, would you_?

“I’m sorry,” he says, kicking himself for bringing it up. “It just seems like - ”

“I know it does. But not everything is about the moon. I want all the same things when I’m wolf shaped as I do when I’m human shaped,” Remus says, sitting up slightly. His eyes change colour as he lifts his head off the pillow, becoming a darker blue-green as he puts the shadows behind him. “I spent all of last night trying to get past Prongs to find you. I think I knew that you were in the Castle, but every time I tried, Prongs charged me.”

“Poor Moony,” he says sympathetically. “Did he crack your skull?”

“Feels like it,” Remus says, his voice soft and sleepy. “It’ll be all right in a few days. Skin healed, wounds closed, bruises gone. All the better to tear myself apart afresh next month.”

“Moony - ”

“You still haven’t answered my question, you know. I suppose it’s the least I deserve, but you could tell me whether or not you still want to be with me.”

He’s surprised to hear that. “You know I still want you. I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t.”

“You’ve also yet to tell me what you want from me,” Remus says gently, aware that this is something he’s reluctant to discuss. “I know it makes you uncomfortable, but all we have to do is talk about it. You can tell me anything Padfoot, I won’t laugh.”

“You might,” he says, turning his thoughts to what he wants from Remus. “I don’t really… I can’t say.”

_I want you to be in love with me, because I think I might be in love with you, and it **hurts** to think that you don’t._

“Tell me,” Remus insists, shifting closer to him, as if he’ll be more comfortable discussing it if he doesn’t have to raise his voice. “Don’t be frightened. You can have anything you want of me, Padfoot.”

_You’re only saying that because you think you know what I’ll ask of you and you’re all right with it. But you don’t know, Remus, you don’t. I don’t doubt that I could have anything I wanted of you if this were just about sex, but… I want you to be in love with me, and I know you can’t just because I ask you to be, because it’s not something you can control and I **know** that because I’ve tried so hard to stop loving you, and I can’t do it._

“I’ll tell you later,” he says, hoping Remus will let it drop. He’ll have to make something up eventually, just to get past this, but for now it’s just too hard.

Remus holds his gaze for a long moment without saying anything, as though trying to pull Sirius’ thoughts out of his head through sheer strength of will. _Oh don’t_, he thinks, refusing to look away. _Don’t look at me like that or I’ll tell you everything, and then you really **will** laugh at me._

“What if I told you what I wanted, and you could say yes or no,” Remus offers quietly, shifting closer again. “Is that why you’re embarrassed? Because you don’t know if it’s all right to ask for something, or to want something?” He nods, and Remus reaches out and strokes his hair away from his eyes. “I won’t ask you to do anything I won’t do myself. That way you’ll know I’m not making fun of you. Does that sound all right?”

“Yes,” he says, not trusting his voice to say more than that. If only Remus weren’t bandaged up and in so much pain. _I could lie closer to you and hold you while you sleep._

“So to be fair, since I’m asking you to tell me what you want from me, I’ll start by telling you what I want from you.”

“Now?”

He must sound just as anxious as he feels, because Remus smiles kindly. “Later, if you want. I’ll tell you all the things I think about doing to you, all the things I dream about you doing to me, everything I picture us doing to each other as I touch myself.” A sharp shudder leaps along his spine at the thought that Remus pictures _him_ when he masturbates. “I’ll tell you all the ways I want to make you squeal, to steal your breath away, to send shivers up and down your body just by _looking_ at you.”

He nods again, pushing his head up into Remus’ hand at the same time. “I want to hear,” he says. “I want to know. You’re my first, Moony. I won’t be able to do it right unless you tell me how,” he says.

“You’re my first boyfriend too,” Remus says. He must look disbelieving, because Remus drops his hand and moves to lie back on the bed once more. “Oh, I’ve _done things_ with other people.”

He notices, not for the first time, that Remus uses the words ‘other people’ rather than ‘other boys’. _What does that mean?_

“I’m not talking about that,” Remus continues. “I mean that you’re the first one who’s been my boyfriend. Who I’ve _dated_, not that we’ve ever properly dated, but you know what I mean. I don’t know how much time we’re supposed to spend together either, but I’d prefer to spend it with you alone, not with Wormtail and Prongs tagging along.”

He has nothing to say to that – he’s still not prepared to tell James and Peter about himself.

“We don’t have to tell them,” Remus says, as though reading his mind. “Not until you’re ready. After all, _I_ didn’t tell the three of you when I first discovered I preferred boys.”

_Preferred?_

“Does that mean you like girls as well?” It couldn’t go both ways, could it? You were either one or the other, surely.

“Yes,” Remus says. “But don’t let that worry you because I far prefer _you_ to anyone else, boy or girl. Of them all, you’re the best one, Padfoot.”

“It’s not enough,” he says, his mind reeling at the fact that Remus can be so casual about it. “I want to be the only one.”

“You are,” Remus says fervently. “I made a promise to you on New Year’s Eve. I mean to keep it. You’re the only one I want. All I have to do is come up with a way to get you to myself without Wormtail and Prongs wanting to know all about it, and then we’ll be able to talk properly.”

“If _they_ had girlfriends,” he says, smiling, “they mightn’t much care what the two of us got up to on our own.”

Remus laughs, reaching out for him again with one bandaged hand. “Brilliant Sirius,” Remus says, the smile evident in his voice even though his arm is blocking the lower half of his face from Sirius’ view. “It’s no longer an impossible task, we just have to convince Evans to submit to Prongs’ wiles.” They both laugh at that. “You’re too far away over there. You could come closer, you know.”

“Aren’t you very tired?”

Remus simply lifts the covers in response, and moves closer to him. He turns onto his other side to get out of the bed and let Remus sleep, but Remus catches his robe and pulls him back.

“Don’t run from me, Padfoot. Come back to bed,” Remus says, his voice rich and inviting.

“I want to. But,” he says, glimpsing a thick, white bandage around Remus’ ribs, “you’ve been hurt.”

It’s stupid – given that he came there ostensibly to ensure that Remus was all right – that he should end up curled into himself, on his side, with Remus wrapped around his back. But that’s exactly what happens, and he can feel Remus’ arm around him, reaching for his hand and linking their fingers.

“Yes, I have,” Remus whispers, placing soft, warm kisses along his neck, and up around his ear. “But so have you.”


	11. March 1977 (Remus)

It’s almost time to get up again, but he’s been tossing and turning all night, unable to get to sleep. It still occasionally amazes him that he gave in so easily, that the other boy can have this much power over him. He isn’t used to having to work this hard, just to keep someone else.

No, that’s not it.

He’s never _wanted_ to keep anyone else. All the others, all of them, are interchangeable – warm bodies that were simply _there_ in the midst of a drunken stupor or at the pull of the moon, or as was the case until only recently, both. No one has ever wanted to restrict him before, to demand that he be theirs and only theirs, but when Sirius says the words, every single part of him wants to comply.

Because this is Sirius, who is far more than another warm body in the darkness. Sirius, who gives him desires he’s never had before, and not just sexually. He wants to know the other boy, everything about him – where he is, what he’s thinking, who he’s with, his hopes, dreams, _everything_.

Before Sirius, he never really felt jealous before – never cared what Benny, Paula, Mark or even Miranda did or whom they did it with when he wasn’t there. If things didn’t work out with one, one of the others would be along soon enough, and – not to put too fine a point of it – none of them _mattered_.

But with Sirius… _It’s just a stupid New Year’s Resolution_, he tells himself. _If you want to have Sirius, you can’t have anybody else_, and he made that promise to Sirius within seconds of kissing him for the first time. Surely he wouldn’t have made the second promise – _don’t push him, this is all new to him, take what he gives you, nothing more_ – if he didn’t care about what Sirius thought, or how he felt, or whether or not he was comfortable with how quickly things were progressing between the two of them.

Perhaps it is because with the others the indifference was mutual?

“Hey.”

He turns toward the sound of the voice to see Sirius standing at the side of his bed, holding the curtains open with one hand. _I know I’m not dreaming, because he’s wearing that bloody nightshirt_. Sirius Black is probably the only boy in the world who can wear an all encompassing, shapeless nightshirt and look wonderfully Romantic and Victorian instead of out-dated and ridiculous.

“’Lo,” he says sleepily in response, wondering what the time is.

Sirius climbs onto his bed, letting the curtains fall closed behind him. “I can’t sleep,” Sirius says, sounding slightly embarrassed. “Just think. I’ve been sixteen for almost six hours now.”

He refrains from teasing Sirius for being so young. Sirius’ voice indicates that now is not the time for teasing.

“I got my Hogwarts letter when I was ten,” Sirius continues softly. “Mother said there must be some mistake, and Father wrote letter after letter to Meadowes, telling her I was too young. Only one of my tutors backed them up, but they refused to use his statement because he was only a half-blood.”

He knows the story.

How because he and Sirius got into a fight on their first day, and because Sirius was sorted into a House full of ‘Mudbloods and blood traitors’, his parents arrived at the school the very next day demanding that they be allowed to take their baby home, and that he might join Hogwarts the next year, or more likely he’d be sent to Durmstrang.

How James and Sirius _also_ got into a fight ten minutes after meeting one another and Sirius refused to let his parents take him home or let him be transferred to Slytherin because that ‘filthy blood traitor’ James Potter thought he was better than Sirius Black, and Sirius Black was going to prove him wrong, or make him cry, or both if he could manage it.

“Why?” Sirius asks. “Why did they send it a year too soon? Were they afraid I was going to learn something at home I wouldn’t be able to unlearn at school? What…” Sirius’ voice hitches, and he pauses for a moment to collect himself. “What was it that they saw? Because sometimes I think I can see it too, and others… She makes me so angry, sometimes.”

There is no need to ask who Sirius means by ‘she’. He will never cease to be amazed how someone as politically astute as Sirius can be so _naïve_, and in some cases outright blind, when it comes to the failings of the House of Black. Then again, he knows he shouldn’t underestimate Sirius. The other boy might be slow to see flaws in those he loves, but he has obviously stood up to Cassiopeia Black over _something_, if Regulus’ ascendance is any indication.

“Are you going home for Easter?” he asks. Perhaps he can prevent Sirius having to go home sooner than he needs to. “Only, I’m spending Easter with my mum, and she mentioned she’d love to see you again.”

“Liar. Your mother hates me. Ever since I told her there was no such thing as a Muggle witch.”

“There is so,” he says, smiling as he thinks fondly of his mum. Anyone else but Sirius would call his mum a nutter. James does so on a regular basis. He’s certain that the only reason Sirius hasn’t is because the other boy knows he’s in no position to make comments about the sanity of other people’s mothers.

“There is _not_. You can’t be a witch just by _wanting_, you either are or you aren’t. There is no power in incense, crystals are just _rocks_, and there’s no such thing as auras.”

“She likes arguing with you,” he says mildly.

“No, _you_ like me arguing with her.”

Which isn’t far from the truth – Katja Deveraux is more likely to take the news with good grace coming from a pure-blood with generations of good breeding and a powerful magical heritage, than from her long suffering son who looks too much like his father and rolls his eyes with mock contempt every time she mentions healing his chakra or praying for guidance from fortunate stars.

It certainly doesn’t hurt that Sirius’ sweetly confused expression of polite interest whenever mum manages to corner him is so adorable.

“So will you come? I know your family always throws a ball for your birthday during the holiday, but you could come and stay for a bit, after that.” Sirius frowns slightly, obviously worried about what his family might think. “Want to sit on my lap while you think about it?” he offers.

“That’s very kind of you,” Sirius says, so gravely that he wants to laugh.

“Come and sit in my lap then, Padfoot.” _Better still, sit in my lap and come_.

Sirius finds Remus’ wand on the shelf over the head of his bed and casts _lumos_, lighting the canopy of the bed to shower them with soft, white light.

He doesn’t want to beat Sirius over the head with it, but he wants the other boy to be aware that they can do this, they can do _more_ than this, without fear of being caught, if Sirius came and stayed with him over the Easter Break. _Mum’d leave us alone, she’d have work during the day anyway. We’d have the flat almost entirely to ourselves._

At the same time, he’s aware that he’s probably on thin ice with the other boy after breaking up with him a second time, and isn’t prepared to push his luck. Not _just_ yet, anyway.

He pushes up just as Sirius lowers himself down and both of them exhale loudly at that first touch. When he grinds his crotch sideways between Sirius legs, the other boy tips his head back, his black, feathery hair just brushing his shoulders. It’s getting much longer than Sirius normally wears it, and isn’t cut properly, simply growing out of his last hair cut, but he will probably never be anything less than completely beautiful to Remus.

“What sort of thinking is this, then?” Sirius whispers giddily, struggling to maintain his balance atop Remus.

“The fun sort,” he grins back, the blood pounding in his cock so strongly it’s almost as though his cock has its own heartbeat. “Come here and kiss me,” he demands, knowing from past experience that as much fun as _this_ is, it will be even better if he can taste Sirius properly.

“Yes, just let me – oh, do that again,” Sirius says, as he shifts balance and flinches, shivering with pleasure.

“Do what again?” he asks, not quite sure what Sirius is referring to, but settling his hands on Sirius’ sides and shifting the other boy about in his lap so that his own cock nudges up behind Sirius’ balls. “That?”

“Mmm, yes, that – oh, _Moony_,” Sirius cries out in a harsh whisper, collapsing against Remus and muffling the rest of his cry against Remus’ shoulder.

“Messy, sweaty Dark Wizard,” he whispers, his fingers still playing up and down Sirius’ side and making the other boy twitch delightedly. Sirius is quiet, resting his weight against Remus completely in exhaustion. They haven’t been able to do this often, but it’s been often enough for him to know that Sirius has trouble staying awake after orgasm. The thought is amused and fond rather than annoyed. Something he would kick anybody else out of bed for is the same thing he finds disarmingly sweet in Sirius.

_Worn out. Poor pet._

Sirius rests his head against Remus’ chest, smiling into his neck. “Only thestrals sweat, you thick wolf. Dark Wizards _perspire_,” Sirius sleepily insists.

Before he can answer back or get his hand down his pyjama bottoms to finish himself off, James’ alarm-charm goes off.

“It’s not seven o’clock _already_ is it?” James whines from the bed at the far end of the room. Peter murmurs sleepily, and he can hear James getting out of bed, presumably on his way to shake Peter awake as well.

Once again, the threat of discovery chases any vestige of drowsiness out of Sirius, and the other boy springs off him in an instant, not looking remotely tired or as sleepily sated as he was a moment ago. _Oh no you don’t_, he thinks, reaching for Sirius. “Stay,” he hisses. If it comes to it, he can have Sirius say that he suspected his own bed of being booby-trapped for his birthday and crawled into Remus’.

It’s probably only for a moment, but to him it seems as though Sirius spends far too much time thinking about it before climbing back into bed with him. _What are you smiling at_, he thinks suspiciously, as Sirius allows himself to be dragged back.

“Moony, are you awake?” Peter asks softly from outside his curtains. Sirius’ quick grin flashes teeth at him, before he plunges one hand into Remus’ pyjama bottoms.

_Oh…God…_

“Yeah,” he manages, as the waist-elastic of his pants is pushed down and warm fingers wrap around his prick. Sirius does something with a fingernail, spiralling it around the entire length of his shaft, and he almost throws the other boy off when he bucks. Sirius puts on an expression of mock affront. “What…” He realises that he still doesn’t know what James and Peter have planned. “What do you need me to do?”

“Wormtail and I are going down to the kitchens to take care of it,” James says. He is probably only imagining that he can hear an undercurrent of ‘and we don’t need you’ to the statement.

Sirius repeats the motion with his fingernails, and he abruptly ceases to care. “Right,” he gasps out. Sirius adjusts his balance on Remus’ thighs, clearly judging he can maintain his perch without hands, because once the other boy is settled he slips his other hand into Remus’ pants as well. “Oh, sweet fuck…”

_Did I just say that out loud?_

“You all right, Moony?”

_Shit._

Sirius raises an eyebrow at him, the canopy of the bed still raining light down on him and throwing odd shadows across his face. One of Sirius’ torturous, insistent, _brilliant_ hands has worked its way between his legs, exploring under his balls.

“I don’t think he’s properly awake,” Peter calls out, slightly too loudly.

“Would you keep your voice down!” James snaps, just as loudly. “We don’t want to wake Padfoot yet!”

Sirius’ other eyebrow goes up at that. “What have the three of you planned?” Sirius whispers, just loudly enough for him to hear without the others being able to do the same.

He shakes his head frantically, hoping Sirius will take the hint that he doesn’t know anything about it. Sirius looks disbelieving and does something amazing with his fingers – just behind his balls – making him cry out wordlessly.

“Moony, you awake yet?” James asks.

Sirius smiles, pinches his cock and says in another soft whisper, “Tell me what you’ve planned.”

_I don’t know anything about it, I swear. They’ve told me nothing. All I could do was plan my own birthday surprise for you, and you’d better like it more than this one._

“Moony!”

“Yes, I’m awake!” He shakes his head again at Sirius as he says it.

“Keep your voice down! You all right in there?”

“No, I’ve a cramp in my leg,” he lies, hoping that they don’t come to investigate. He’s all for telling Peter and James about the fact that he’s Sirius’ boyfriend and vice versa, but he’s not sure he’s ready to be caught in the act. He’s always preferred initiating the discussion to being caught out and having explanations demanded. “Oh…”

Sirius looks up, the amusement on his face softening into happiness, as Remus’ prick pulses and spurts all over his fingers. Before he can cry out _too_ loudly, Sirius rips a hand away from his groin and plasters it over Remus’ lips. He can taste himself on Sirius’ hand.

“Can you distract Padfoot while we set it up?”

“Yeah, I’ll see what I can do,” he promises, as Sirius removes his hand, leans forward and kisses around his mouth and chin. “Lazy git probably hasn’t woken up yet.” Sirius nips him sharply. “Ow,” he says reproachfully, adding, “my leg,” as a not very convincing after thought.

“Do you want us to come and get you?”

“No, I’ll have him dressed and ready in time for breakfast.”

“Tell them it’ll take half an hour,” Sirius whispers insistently.

“I’ll try and boot him down the stairs by half seven.”

“Breakfast doesn’t start until eight.”

“Eight, then. Now let me sleep,” he says, feeling Sirius settle into him as James and Peter let themselves out.

“Devious wolf,” Sirius says, sitting up and straddling him. “Tell me what you’ve planned.”

“I can’t, I didn’t plan this,” he says. “My job was to keep you out of Peter and James’ hair so that the two of them could organise it without you breathing down their necks.”

“I haven’t been down to breakfast in weeks,” Sirius says, all playfulness vanishing in an instant.

“If I’m any judge,” he says gently, knowing exactly what is bothering Sirius, “everyone else in the Great Hall,” _including Rosier_, “will be too busy dealing with whatever it is that James has planned to trouble us.”

“How do you know James will - ”

“Well, it’s not too hard to guess, is it? Now come on, get washed and dressed.”

“Get dressed, is it? You don’t want to stay here and play some more?”

_You **know** I do. You know that’s all I’d do if I were able to_. “We’re going to make ourselves decent, and go down to breakfast. And quite possibly, amidst all the chaos, a certain Dark Wizard is going to learn that it Does Not Do to molest innocent werewolves.”

“I don’t know any innocent werewolves. Do you?”

“You will be made to _suffer_, Black. Let’s see _you_ keep a straight face and a smooth voice while I fondle you under the table.”

Sirius’ eyes go wide, the pupils dilating to reduce his irises to thin, silver rims. “I bet I could,” he challenges.

“We’ll see, won’t we?” Pushing Sirius insistently toward the edge of the bed, he follows after the other boy, gathering his things to get washed and changed.

“All right, all _right_, I’ll get ready,” Sirius mutters.

“No, you can wait while _I_ get ready,” he says with a smile, unwilling to stand about waiting in the cold when he could be under a warm shower instead.

Once he’s done, and it’s Sirius’ turn to use the bathroom, he decides to wait for his boyfriend in the common room rather than listen to the sound of Sirius cleaning himself in the bathroom.

_Don’t torture yourself when you don’t need to, Lupin._

But for all of that, it’s just as torturous waiting for Sirius in the Gryffindor common room, where every half-brained girl – regardless of her year – seems to know that it is Sirius’ birthday, and fairly soon he is carrying a stack of horribly scented cards and letters gushingly addressed to _his_ boyfriend.

_Pink ink. Ugh._

Any momentary jealousy he feels is gone once Sirius appears at the bottom of the stairs and scans the room for him. _I might not be able to get away with giving him a card or buying him extravagant presents_, he thinks. For one thing, James and Peter would become curious. _But I get **him**_, he thinks, trying not to shoot Esther Stebbins a smug look, _and the rest of you can send him all the cards you want, but it’s me he comes to._

And Sirius does exactly that, spotting him standing near the portrait and walking straight toward him as though he is the only one in the room, and as though there aren’t at least four girls watching him like love-sick hawks, trying to work up the courage to approach him, or think of something witty to say.

“So,” Sirius says, as they step out of the portrait and walk toward the Great Hall for breakfast. “What’s so bloody important I need to make it to breakfast?”

“I keep telling you I don’t know,” he says, handing the horrible, scented cards to Sirius. “Even if I did, I couldn’t tell you without ruining the surprise, could I?”

Sirius looks at him suspiciously. “You mean my own _boyfriend_ hasn’t had anything to do with - ”

“Your own boyfriend hasn’t had anything to do with whatever’s been planned for breakfast,” he says quickly, feeling furious with Peter and James all over again – James more than Peter. “That doesn’t mean he’s nothing planned for you at all.”

“I knew it!” Sirius cries in triumph, the suspicious expression replaced by a radiant smile.

“You don’t know anything,” he says mildly, but it’s with a smile because he’s made his Sirius laugh and unlike James, he hasn’t had to make a Slytherin cry to do so.

Peter and James wave at them from their seats at the Gryffindor table. Sirius slips in beside James, leaving him to sit next to Peter. He tells himself that he doesn’t mind, because this way he gets to watch Sirius, even if he doesn’t get to sit next to him, or feel him up.

“I’d have let you sleep in, Padfoot, but you don’t want to miss this,” James says, grinning.

“Miss what, Prongs? There’s bugger all for as far as the eye can see.”

Stella Mira arrives with the other owls, crooning happily at seeing Sirius at breakfast where he is supposed to be. Sirius frowns as he removes miniaturised letters from her leg, which expand to a readable size at his touch.

_Black wax with a silver seal – what do his family want from him now?_ It _could_ be just a birthday greeting from Sirius’ mum, but he has his doubts. Glancing over at the Ravenclaw table, he can see Regulus Black sitting at the head like a little king, suffering the attentions of his underlings.

“Any minute now,” Peter says breathlessly, watching the Slytherin table.

Sirius ignores him, flicking through his letters and stuffing them into a pocket in his robes. The revolting cards are in a pile at his elbow, and James is opening them and pulling faces at some of the sentiments in them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the Headmaster sitting down to breakfast, and platters of food appear on the house tables as he does so.

“Ah, here we go,” James says, grinning broadly as someone at the Slytherin table lifts the lid off a platter of sausages.

Further along, there is a shriek, and heads turn as a female fourth year turns into a humanoid snake after taking a bite of toast. Her face lengthens and fangs protrude from her mouth, as glittering silver and green scales cover her body. She barely has time to cry out or turn around before she changes back to normal, looking disgusted and terrified all at once.

“She’s not alone,” Peter promises, nodding to the Ravenclaw table where several students are experiencing the same symptoms, except instead of snakes, they seem to be Transfiguring into humanoid eagle chicks, their mouths and noses combining and pushing forward from their faces to form beaks, their hair transfiguring into copper and blue feathers.

Regulus Black glares at the toast and pushes it to one side with a fork.

There is nervous laughter around the Hall, and Sirius is trying to control a smile as he lifts his goblet to his lips. “This is brilliant,” Sirius says softly, laughter evident in his voice. Two third years at the Hufflepuff table transfigure into half-human-half-badgers, although the darker haired one still has two streaks of white through his hair after he transfigures back.

“You’d think they’d learn to stay away from the toast,” Sirius says, fighting down laughter, and only succeeding in nearly snorting juice out of his nostrils as Regulus takes a savage bite of egg and is promptly transfigured into a red and gold, humanoid lion, along with about six Gryffindors.

“Thought of that,” James says smugly, as the half-boy, half-lion at the Ravenclaw table growls at them. James smiles and gives Regulus a lazy wave, before turning back to the three of them. “And we had to take care of Gryffindor too – wouldn’t do to get blamed if ours was the only House that remained unscathed.”

“Oh, I think we’ve been scathed enough,” Peter says, watching McGonagall’s eyes narrow in fury as another lot of Slytherins are struck by the spell after eating some of the porridge.

Up and down the Hall, students are either shrieking with fear or laughter, and the Professors are rushing through the din, trying to preserve order. Watching Sirius smile and laugh, he wishes for nothing more than to be able to give Sirius his own present, just so Sirius can tell him right then and there which one he likes better.

“Happy birthday, mate,” James says, pushing his glasses back up his nose and then extending the gesture to run his hand through his hair. “From all three of us.”

Sirius smiles archly and gives him a knowing look. He tries to smile back mysteriously, tries to say with his smile, _you think you know me so well – I bet you don’t know what **I** have planned for you_. Not for the first time, he wishes Peter and James would fuck off so he could simply _talk_ to Sirius.

“What a spectacular display. I don’t suppose there’s any truth to the rumour that the four of you might have something to do with this?” Sirius and James turn around to face Professor Meadowes, the Slytherin Head of House and Defence Against the Dark Arts Mistress. “I’m sure you can all provide me with excellent reasons for being in the kitchens before breakfast today.”

She’s bluffing, since all four of them _weren’t_ in the kitchens that morning.

“We weren’t in the kitchens. I came straight to breakfast from bed,” Sirius says truthfully, just as James says, “It’s Sirius’ birthday. We wanted to ask the House Elves if they could make his favourite tonight at dinner.”

“We?” Meadowes pounces on James, ignoring Sirius for the moment.

“James and I,” Peter says, watching her warily.

“Well. Sirius’ inability to get out of bed before the first class of the day is quite well known,” Meadowes says, her sharp, green gaze flickering between the four of them. “Sometimes even several minutes _into_ the first class of the day. You can understand why I find it intriguing that you chose to make an appearance at breakfast on the same day this chaos occurred.”

But she moves on from Sirius and turns to look at Remus expectantly. He sees a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, which turns out to be Lily Evans, appearing at James’ shoulder.

“Lupin was being asked to collect this lot,” Evans says, indicating the stack of cards in front of Sirius, “and give it to Black.”

“I see,” Meadowes says, looking away from them and scrutinising Peter and James. “So only the two of you were in the kitchens before breakfast? Interesting.”

“That doesn’t mean we’re responsible for all of this,” James bluffs hotly, his all-encompassing arm waving taking in a Gryffindor lion roaring half-heartedly at a Ravenclaw eagle chick.

“I don’t recall saying you were,” Meadowes continues smoothly. “But you must admit, all four of you have been caught in the past engaging in similar activities.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” Sirius says calmly.

“No, unfortunately it doesn’t. Still…Sirius has a history of sleeping through breakfast. As strange as it is that he’s here on time, it beggars belief to think for a moment he would have managed to drag himself out of the dormitory in time to visit the kitchens beforehand. I’m also certain that Mr Lupin can get most of the Gryffindor girls’ dormitory to vouch for his presence this morning. I believe that neither of them were in the kitchens this morning. So that leaves just the two of you to help me.”

James frowns at her. “Help you do what?”

“Catch the perpetrators of course,” she says, as James’ eyebrows shoot past his glasses and try to join his messy hairline. “You and Mr Pettigrew both admitted to being in the kitchens. You must have seen something. And as I said, this sort of stunt is so remarkably similar to the types of pranks the four of you have pulled in the past that you must have _some_ thoughts as to who else might be capable of such a thing. ‘Set a thief to catch a thief’, I believe the saying is.”

He chokes on his pumpkin juice, and Peter whacks him on the back.

As if nothing has happened, she continues blithely on, “I’ll expect the two of you at my office this afternoon after your last class, and if we are unsuccessful, I expect you to rejoin me after dinner.”

“How…” Peter subsides with a small squeak as she turns her attention to him. “How long will we have to help for?”

“Why,” she says, smiling down at them, “until the perpetrators are caught and punished. I can make allowances for when you need to complete your homework – it wouldn’t do to have you fall behind in class – bring it with you to my office, and we’ll begin as soon as your school work is up to date.”

James’ jaw drops, and Peter glances between James and Sirius, waiting for them to fix this mess. To his credit, Sirius opens his mouth to talk their way out of it, but is shut up by Meadowes who says, “We’ve already established that you were not in the kitchens. You’re of no further use to this investigation, Sirius. Perhaps you and Mr Lupin should run along to class. Unless you’re volunteering your assistance?”

The two of them gather their belongings and move a short distance away before she can change her mind. Leaving the cacophony in the Great Hall, they move into the corridor, only to be confronted by Sirius’ brother. The Temporary Transfiguration Potion has worn off, but Regulus’ robes look dishevelled and untidy as he stalks towards them.

“In front of _everyone_,” Regulus says miserably, sounding betrayed. “You could at least have _warned_ me, rather than single me out for ridicule like that.”

“Baby cat…” Sirius attempts placatingly. It is probably the worst thing he can say.

“Don’t ever call me that again!” Regulus yells.

He knows that the brothers have been brought up not to fight one another in public – Regulus must be deeply upset to shout like this. _Last time this happened, he drew his wand on you and threatened to hurt you_, he thinks, looking at Sirius who seems shocked at Regulus’ vehemence.

“Regu- ”

“_Never_ again! I know what the spell turned me into!”

“Regulus, it wasn’t deliberate. Not all of the students were affected, and you - ”

“The hell it wasn’t deliberate! I was the _only_ one at the Ravenclaw table that turned into a lion. I know _why_ I was the only one transfigured into a lion, very clever, _very_ amusing. I’m sure that will keep the four of you entertained for months to come.”

“Regulus, please listen to me…”

“In front of the whole school,” Regulus whispers, heartbrokenly. “You humiliated me in front of everybody. Potter even _waved_ at me. What have I ever done to him?” _It’s nothing to do with what you’ve done to James and everything to do with what you’ve done to Sirius. That’s what friends do_, he thinks savagely, wanting Regulus to step away from Sirius. _Which you’d know if you had any friends of your own_. “I thought we… I thought we were all right, again.”

Glancing over at an empty classroom, Sirius reaches out for Regulus. “Come here,” Sirius offers, hissing in exasperation as Regulus pulls away from his hand. “We can discuss it - ”

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Regulus spits. “Here,” he adds, pulling something out of his pocket and flinging it at Sirius. Sirius instinctively reaches a hand out to block the item and snatches it out of the air. “It’s your present, for all it’s worth.” Sirius looks down at the velvet bag in his hand without expression.

“Oh. I… That’s - ” Sirius starts to say, only to be cut off by Regulus again.

“Don’t waste words thanking me. I bought it ages ago, you needn’t think I went to any trouble on your behalf. You’d do well to finish it quickly, it’ll probably start to spoil after much longer.” Regulus gives Sirius one last glare and storms off to his first class.

_Charming._

“Are you all right?” he asks softly.

“I’m fine,” Sirius replies, with a tight smile. Undoing the bag with one hand, Sirius parts the folds and glances inside. “It’s chocolate. Mint, I think.”

“You _think_? I can smell it from here,” he says, feeling the sharp, sweet, medicinal smell assault him. It reminds him of the dentist.

“Want some?” Sirius offers, sampling a piece. “Still tastes all right.”

“No, thanks,” he says, recalling Regulus’ remark about it spoiling soon. _Chocolate and mint don’t spoil all that quickly. How old must that stuff be_? “Is your brother - ”

“He’ll be fine,” Sirius says, clearly not willing to discuss the subject further.

He hates himself for having dragged Sirius down to breakfast only for the other boy to be threatened by Meadowes and screamed at by his younger brother. Still, Sirius doesn’t seem particularly perturbed as he reaches into the bag for another sweet.

“I am going to be in detention for the rest of my life!” James says in disbelief, rejoining them in the corridor with Peter in tow.

“Actually, you needn’t be,” he says. “All you have to do is confess, you’ll be punished once, and that’ll be that.”

“Oh right, Moony,” Peter says. “We’ll only be in detention until the end of seventh year instead.”

“She never said anything about Quidditch, did she? I can do my homework in her office, but I doubt she’ll let me practise with the rest of the team. That sly, old _witch_,” James groans.

“Surely you can use this to your advantage by setting up someone else. Convince her that it wasn’t you or Wormtail and then pin it on someone else.”

“That’ll take forever,” Sirius says, frowning at him. _Don’t you see Padfoot? The longer they spend doing that, the longer they’ll have detention, and the longer I’ll have you to myself_. Perhaps Sirius _does_ see and doesn’t _want_ to be alone with him? “She’s already convinced it’s the pair of you. Look at this way – you can think of it as being punished for not realising she was bluffing.”

“I KNEW IT!” James bellows, causing the second years next to him to jump in surprise. “It was fool proof, there was no _way_ she could have seen us.”

“Better catch her before she starts off for classes. It seemed like she was almost in a good mood,” he says, able to see through the doorway as Meadowes scowls over James’ shoulder. One of the half-student, half-snakes tries to bite her, before changing back into a dazed third-year.

“Go to McGonagall,” Sirius tells them both. “If you tell Meadowes, she’ll be annoyed that you lied about not being involved.”

McGonagall would probably just make them clean up the mess, and give them detention until the weekend. Meadowes would at least have given them detention for a month and forbidden them a Hogsmeade visit.

“Right,” James says. “I’ll catch up with you in Transfiguration.”

“Yes, all right,” Sirius replies. “Shall we?” he asks, smiling at Remus expectantly, and they start off for their first class of the day. “So. Your present for me…”

“What about it?”

“When do I get it?” Sirius asks, starting on yet another bit of chocolate.

Looking over his shoulder to see McGonagall exhale in exasperation as James shrugs charmingly at her, he knows that the other two probably won’t be given detention tonight, or perhaps at all. Peter might not be McGonagall’s favourite, but James certainly is.

_She’ll probably award him House points for managing to transfigure so many students – even if it was at random and even though it could have had disastrous results_. At best, she’ll make them stay back and help un-transfigure any of the students who’ve eaten too much toast or porridge or whatever else was laced.

“After your final class,” he says.

“Mmm?” Sirius murmurs warmly, the way he does after he’s come and is too tired to talk properly. Although this time, it’s probably because his mouth is full of mint.

“Meet me at the statue of - ”

“ – the one-eyed witch?”

“No,” he says, laughing at the confusion on Sirius’ face. “At the statue of Boris the Bewildered. On the fifth floor corridor. He’s got his gloves on the wrong hands.”


	12. March 1977 (Sirius)

_After last classes, he said. Well, it’s after now. Where is he?_

He’s standing near the statue of Boris the Bewildered as directed, glancing up and down the long corridor and there is no sign of Remus. _Tardy prat_. Relying on Remus to be on time – or to even _know_ what time it is at any hour of the day – is an exercise in futility. He hates waiting, and he’s fairly certain that Remus knows this.

_So where is he and why won’t he hurry up?_

One of the locked doors in the corridor swings open and he looks up expectantly, but it’s _Snivellus_ who steps out, rather than his Remus. The other boy’s normally greasy hair is plastered damply against his skull, and he’s carrying a change of clothes. His immediate thought is that the other boy must know of a secret passage that the four of them haven’t discovered as yet. _Or has Remus found it too?_

That quells his rage, somewhat – the sheer _audacity_ of the Slytherin, daring to know about a passage in the school that he doesn’t know of himself!

“Something you wanted, Black?”

“For you to be on your way, Snivellus. Sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Yes, you’d like that wouldn’t you? Then I wouldn’t be able to prove that your pet Prefect’s broken the rules by telling you about it.”

“Telling me about what?” he drawls, as disinterestedly as possible. _What **rules**?_

“Play dumb if you want,” Snivellus sneers. He wonders idly whether the other boy practises curling his lip in the mirror every morning. “You’d better not still be here in five minutes.” He doesn’t bother to draw his wand, deciding instead to stare Snape down until he slinks off – which the other boy eventually does, taking step by cautious step backward away from Sirius.

It isn’t long after that when Remus arrives. Also carrying a change of clothing.

_What on earth…_

“Moony,” he starts to say, just as Remus grabs his hand and draws him away from the statue. “Here, stop that,” he splutters, yanking his hand away. “Someone might see!”

“No one here to see, Padfoot,” Remus says, flashing him a quick grin. At one of the doors – _is it the same one Snivellus came out of?_ – Remus checks the wards on the door. “It’s empty,” Remus says, sounding pleased.

“What are you - ”

“Squeaky clean,” Remus whispers at the door, which swings inward. For a moment, there is a sensation of overpowering, blinding white marble. “Wait here a moment.”

“What is this place?”

“Prefects’ bathroom,” Remus says shortly. “Let me make sure we’ll be alone.”

Remus slips into the room and closes the door. _Prefects’ bathroom? This is the first I’m hearing of it_. It shouldn’t be surprising, since he’s not a Prefect, but still…

_Prefects’ bathroom…we can be private at last…_

He doesn’t know which he feels more – aroused or afraid. After they got back together again last week, Remus pushes less and is less frightening to be around. There are fewer demands about wanting to know what Sirius wants.

_What I want is for you to be in love with me_, he thinks for what seems like the ninetieth time that week. _I’m not a coward. If I knew you loved me, I don’t think there’s anything I wouldn’t want you to do to me. I could give you anything you asked for without feeling weak, or dirty, or ashamed, or used. _

The last time Remus pressed him about it, he had the impression that Remus wanted Sirius to bring himself off with his hands while confessing every dirty thought he ever had about the two of them. _Is that what he wants? Or did I get it wrong again?_ What genuinely surprised him, though, was how much he _wanted_ to tell Remus. He dreams about the two of them together almost every night, and wakes up having to relieve himself urgently.

Speaking of which… _What’s taking that wolf so long?_

He repeats the password softly, and the door swings open to let him in. He spends a full minute simply looking around at the polished, gleaming marble, sparkling, gold taps and piles of fluffy towels. Glancing about more urgently, he finally sees Remus standing in front of a painting, which has a mermaid laughing at him in her screechy voice.

It’s the only painting he can see, so they’ll have privacy once Remus persuades the mermaid to go. Returning to the door, he slams the bolt home, and as an extra precaution, draws the Map from his pocket and resets the warning charm Remus spelled onto it. Remus waves his hands at the mermaid in a beseeching gesture, but she glances over at Sirius and smiles and tosses her hair.

With his wand still out, he glares at her. “_Obliviate! Stupefy!_”

Remus turns around to face him, looking horrified. “Padfoot! I can’t believe you just did that.”

“It’s only a portrait. She was being difficult,” he says without remorse, watching the painted mermaid fall into a swoon, stupefied and sprawled out next to her rock. “I don’t know how you’re able to use this place at all, with _her_ laughing and chattering the whole time.”

“I _don’t_ use this place,” Remus says, looking slightly less shocked now, although he’s watching Sirius’ wand hand warily. He tucks his wand back into his robes, out of sight, and the other boy calms visibly. He’s probably also scowling, and has to force himself to keep his expression neutral. “The rest of you would have noticed if I never used the bathroom in the dorm.”

He’s not so sure about that. Last year, or for that matter any time at all before Remus kissed him, he’s not sure he would have been able to recall the colour of the other boy’s eyes, let alone where he may or may not have bathed. It wasn’t that he disliked Remus or anything – Remus was one of the four of them and a trusted Marauder, of course.

But at the same time, he never really paid much attention to what the other boy did or didn’t do when he wasn’t right under Sirius’ nose – sometimes even when Remus was right under his nose. Now, after New Year’s, the first thing he does when he walks into a room is look around to see whether or not Remus is in it. And if Remus isn’t, then it is imperative that he at least _know_ where the other boy is, or what he is doing.

“Mmm,” he hums with a shrug, when he sees Remus still looking at him expectantly. “Can’t think why you wouldn’t, if _she_ doesn’t bother you.”

“Yeah? Well it’s your fault, really. I always thought I’d have a better chance of walking in on you naked in our bathroom than if I used this one every day.”

As always, when Remus says something provocative like that, there is nothing he can think of to snap back in return.

“I always lock the door,” is all he can come up with. Remus moves closer, throwing an amused look at the fact that he’s bolted the door to this bathroom, too. He’s certain, however, that _this_ time, Remus isn’t laughing at him.

“Yes, I know you do,” Remus says, dodging past and embracing him from behind.

He can feel the other boy’s laughter rippling through his hair, as Remus rests his chin on Sirius’ shoulder. When Remus starts to place soft kisses against his neck, he shivers and glances again at the portrait where the mermaid is still passed out, completely motionless. He is turned, somehow, and then Remus is in front of him again, lips still sucking at his neck. The pressure isn’t intolerable, but he can’t help the involuntary backward steps he takes to get away from it, to get Remus to slow down just a little.

“You don’t - ”…_oh please, do that again_. Remus’ teeth lift from his throat and the other boy reaches for his robe, but only uses the grip to pull him even closer, and it will probably _always_ startle him how close Remus’ face needs to be to his own before they can kiss.

“_God_,” Remus says, pulling away and swiping a hand over his lips. “You taste like you’ve eaten nothing but mint all - ” He tries not to look guilty, but must do because Remus’ eyes narrow in understanding almost at once. “The chocolates from your brother. You ate the lot, didn’t you?”

“I did _not_ eat the lot,” he says, trying not to recall that he probably would have done just that if Marlene hadn’t taken the trouble to snipe at him about James having detention all week and it not being possible to have Quidditch training until _after_ the Hogsmeade weekend. _As if it were my fault_. He offered her one of the sweets as a sarcastic peace offering, and then realised he’d eaten more than a quarter of the bag before stuffing it into his trunk after his final class.

“It’s overpowering,” Remus says, pulling a face. “You taste like medicine. God, you must have got through half the bag at least. _Yuck_.” He punches Remus on the arm. “Honestly, of all the boyfriends I could have ended up with, I _would_ choose the revolting, fat pig wouldn’t I?”

“Well it would take one to know one,” he says reflexively, but his heart isn’t really in it. “I’m not, am I?” He did offer Remus one of the sweets after all - it wasn’t as though he set out to scoff the lot from the beginning. There has always been something addictive about dark chocolate, something which was heightened even further with the addition of mint.

“No, you’re still not of age yet, are you? Piglet,” Remus says fondly, suffering to kiss him on the mouth properly.

“I’m not your piglet,” he says sulkily, folding his arms over his chest and refusing to let Remus near his mouth.

“Aren’t you? You sound like one when you - ” Remus digs his fingers into Sirius’ sides, tickling and making him – “ – squeal.”

“Brought me all the way up here just to insult me, did you?” he demands, breathless with laughter and unable to maintain his bored façade. Remus’ face shifts from an amused, teasing expression to a focussed urgency that sends blood rushing to fill his groin.

_How is it possible for me to be this **hard** and still have enough blood left to blush?_

Remus moves closer, forcing him to take another step back and come up against the well. There is something about the way Remus keeps cornering him against walls, and picking him up, that makes him think that the other boy is concerned he might bolt at any minute, and is taking steps to prevent it.

_Trapped_, he thinks delightedly, as he waits for Remus to come to him, and close in on him. He lowers his head and starts to kiss Remus’ neck, over and over again as Remus puts his arms around Sirius and then does something with his hands, lifting Sirius up slightly, forcing him to grab onto Remus to keep his balance.

“Moony…” Remus laughs with him and manages to get his nose to Sirius’ face, nudging it away from his neck and higher, straighter, so that they can rub their noses together. “Mmm…” His whole body shivers as Remus slides his robes up his thighs so he can wind his legs properly around Remus’ waist and yet it is so _hot_, being fully dressed, swathed in his robes. He can feel sweat trickling between his shoulder blades, and again along his temple and down his face. “Moony, I - ”

“I didn’t bring you here to insult you. I brought you here so I could make you come in twenty different ways,” Remus says, pulling his face away just enough for Sirius to be able to see his smile. “And then you’re going to tell me which you like best, and I’ll make you come twenty times more, just like that.”

“_Ah_…”

“That’s right,” Remus says, whispering now, with his lips right by Sirius’ ear. “Just like this if you want, if you like this best.”

The rubbing feels amazing, but the friction isn’t _quite_ in the right place, isn’t yet where he likes it best, and he just wants to be free of his clothing so that Remus can touch him where he needs it most. Between the wall and Remus, there is nowhere to move and little he can do, except adjust the way he has Remus between his legs.

“I - ”

Remus pushes up against him, making him cry out. “Feel nice?”

“_Yessss…_”

“I brought you here so there’d be no one else to see or hear, so that you could scream as much as you wanted to,” Remus says, again from a distance so he can see his smile. “Only the two of us.”

“I need to - ” He’s so close, he’s right _there_, much more of this and – “Moony, my robes. I’m going to - ”

“Yes, exactly. Just like this.”

“_No_, Moony,” he says urgently, feeling everything below the waist tighten, knowing what’s approaching. “My robes, Moony, Moony, I’ve still got my pants on.”

“Twenty different ways, Padfoot. Leave them on.”

“I’m going to - ”

“Like this, _exactly_ like this, fully dressed. I love seeing you like this, with your robes neatly done up, a perfect, respectable, little Dark Wizard,” Remus is panting now, he must be close too. “But _I’m_ the only one who knows why your hair is mussed, and your face is flushed, and your pants are damp, and you’re breathing like a – ”

“Oh, Moony, Moony, I…_ah_,” he screams, going slack in Remus’ arms and really having to concentrate to keep from falling. “You - ”

“Good?” Remus asks, nosing about his throat and kissing a circle around his neck, soothing him down from orgasm. _A collar made from kisses_, he thinks, trying to maintain his grip on Remus and his balance against the wall instead of closing his eyes in bliss and allowing his head to fall back. The moment Remus comes, he’ll probably be dropped and hit the ground arse first.

“Mmm… the best,” he whispers. Remus’ hands, which are supporting his bottom and keeping him in place, are tensing slightly, as Remus grinds against his urgently, always a sign he’s about to… “Hey! Don’t you dare drop me. Moony, did you hear me, I said don’t you dare - ”

The wall seems to fall away from behind him just as Remus’ hands vanish from under his arse. “Oh God,” Remus manages to get out, one hand reaching for the collar of Sirius’ robes, pulling him forward so that he lands on Remus rather than falling backward to crack his head against the wall.

His hands take the full weight of his fall and Remus yelps because Sirius’ hands land on his chest, pinning him forcefully to the ground.

“I hope you’re happy,” he says, not bothering to try for a stern tone because he knows he won’t be able to maintain it. As is always the case when he comes in his clothing, the glorious sensation of orgasm is instantly replaced with the equally unpleasant sensation of itchy pants.

“I hope you’re happy, actually,” Remus says, rubbing at his head with one hand. “That’s why we’re here, after all.” Remus brings his fingers away from his head, probably checking them for blood. “And considering I broke myself to - ”

“I’m very happy, actually,” he says, giving an experimental wriggle where he is and feeling Remus flinch underneath him. “Love everything we do.” _Love everything about you. Love **you**_. “But you don’t normally like it when I come like this,” he says, settling down into Remus.

“I don’t like it when _I_ come in my pants,” Remus says, that amused yet indecipherable smile playing on his lips. “Love watching you do it.”

“Why?” He sits up in a proper straddle on Remus, wrinkling his nose slightly as he feels his pants stick to him. “Why is it not all right for you to do it?”

“It’s embarrassing sometimes.”

“But not for me?”

“It’s different for you,” Remus says, reaching for his hands and bringing them to his mouth to kiss them. He has the unshakeable feeling he’s just been fobbed off, when Remus innocently enquires, “Can I give you the rest of your present, or do you plan to sit on me all night?”

“It’s my birthday, I’ll do as I please,” he says haughtily, watching Remus’ eyes follow his hand as he moves it over the boy’s face.

Remus laughs softly. “Oh, forgive me. Remind me, how is that different to any other day of the year?” He rests his hand against the side of Remus’ face, stealing the warmth from the other boy’s cheek. He glances once more at the portrait of the mermaid, the figure still passed out next to her rock.

_Are we really safe, here?_

“You’re so tense,” Remus says, turning his head so he can take Sirius’ fingers into his mouth. “’E ‘an ‘ay ‘ere all nigh’.” He pulls his fingers out of Remus’ mouth and uses them to stroke Remus lips as the other boy tries again, “We can stay here all night just the two of us, or we could back to the dorm and play cards with Wormtail and Prongs, or we could go to the Library and prepare for the Herbology essay due at the end of the week with the rest of our year, or - ”

“You’re making fun of me now,” he says softly, hating every time Remus subtly pokes fun at him for his reluctance to give the other boy what he wants, every time Remus needles him about not wanting more physical contact, every time Remus makes him feel as though he’s just a little boy who’s too unsophisticated to play properly. The truth of it is that he’d much rather spend time simply _being_ with Remus than worry about what he is _doing_ with Remus.

“_Or_,” Remus continues, blessedly abandoning that tactic, “I could give you a massage. Make you less tense.”

He nods, and lifts himself off Remus, standing and offering a hand to the other boy to help him up. Remus almost throws him off balance when he pulls Sirius’ hand further down to place a kiss on his knuckles, but he is soon standing as well, still holding Sirius’ hand and leading him to the edge of the pool.

“C’mere,” Remus says, sitting on the edge with one leg in the empty pool and one leg outside. Sitting between Remus’ legs, he lowers his weight back onto the other boy, glancing at the mermaid portrait once more before closing his eyes.

It’s unlikely the portrait will revive anytime soon. He was made to practise his _obliviate_ and _stupefy_ charms even before his first year at Hogwarts, before his parents felt comfortable letting him leave home at all. _If you find yourself trapped in the Muggle world, these spells will be your protection. They’ll keep you safe until we can find you_, Father had told him, back when he was nine – almost ten – watching him unleash the spells on House-elf after House-elf.

Before Father died, but after he was mortally wounded, Mother taught him protection spells that could be cast without his wand, that could be cast without even an incantation, because if someone took his wand, he might be gagged or unable to speak as well. He now knows spells that can be cast by the touch of skin against skin, spells that conjure binds to hold people down or prevent them from Apparating, spells to bruise flesh and to break bones, spells that use the Darkest Magic he has ever seen, but Mother said that all the Dark Magic in the world was more than worth the cost of casting, if it kept her Puppy safe.

_Was that why they wanted me to come to school early? To stop learning those sorts of things? Am I still her Puppy now? Does she really want **me**, Sirius, back because she loves me, or does she want her firstborn son and heir back because she needs him to fulfil the duties he was born to?_

“You’re all tense again,” Remus murmurs. “Want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“I - ” He can’t see what Remus is doing behind him, and turns around. “Sorry,” he says, kicking himself for letting his mind wander.

“It’s all right,” Remus says, looking unruffled. “Want to go back? We don’t have to study for Herbolody unless you really - ”

“No.” Closing his eyes, he lets Remus place hands on his hips and turn him to face away again, drawing him closer, almost to sit on Remus’ lap. “I want to stay here.”

“Lean back again, then,” Remus says, using one hand to support Sirius’ neck and using the pads of his fingers on the other to knead his scalp. “That’s it,” Remus says encouragingly, and once more, he’s reminded of the other boy’s presence and of where he is.

He ponders, not for the first time, that not only do people do odd things for love, they put up with odd things for love, too. To say nothing of the fact that people will take things on trust if the words are spoken by someone who is well loved, where if the words were spoken by another, they would require proof.

_Or that’s it very difficult to demand proof from someone you love without hurting their feelings._

“You’re a million miles away,” Remus says.

He’s not sure how he knows, but he has the feeling that Remus is reaching the end of his patience.

“It feels nice, what you’re doing,” he says tentatively, choosing his words carefully. “Would it be easier for you,” he starts to say, hoping he doesn’t sound stupid, “if you could - ” He pulls away and turns around to look at Remus as he says, “If I wasn’t still dressed.” At least the other boy doesn’t look as if he is fighting down laughter.

“Yes,” Remus replies, his eyes again looking vivid blue against the white of their surroundings. There is a moment where they are completely silent, looking into each other’s eyes, their breathing falling into the same, impossibly slow pattern. “Are you going to make it easier for me?”

“You could make it easier for yourself,” he says lightly, kneeling up on the shallow wall and moving to place himself between Remus’ legs, offering the collar of his robes to the other boy to unfasten if he wishes.

“Are you sure you want to stay?” Remus asks, probably confused that he has acceded so quickly. “Prongs might be wondering where you are.” It goes without saying that it won’t occur to James to wonder where _Remus_ is – unless he suspects Remus of trying to chat up Evans again.

“He might be, but he’s not likely to come looking. McGonagall gave both of them detention for the rest of the week.” Remus looks inordinately pleased at the idea. “You can start the taps,” he says, bringing his face close to Remus’ and pressing their foreheads together so that it looks as though Remus only has a single eye, brilliant blue with stripes of green through it. “And while we wait, I can give you your Valentine’s day gift.”

“Which is what?”

“To hold still while you use your Valentine’s gift to me,” he says, pulling the oil phial out of a pocket in his robe, and pressing it into Remus’ hand. It wasn’t hard to guess the lines along which Remus would put together a birthday present for him, and he pocketed the oil on a hunch more than anything else.

“On you?”

“Like you said, there’s no one else about. And you did say I could have anything I wanted,” he says briskly, imagining Remus’ hands all over his body. “After that… You dragged me down to breakfast so quickly this morning I didn’t have time to wash properly.”

“You never wash properly,” Remus teases, shifting away slightly to kiss his neck again, and then continuing the soft kisses up towards his face.

“You owe me,” he insists, determined not to take the teasing to heart. “Get your tongue out of my ear, you idiot. You’re not to lick me clean.”

“I owe you a proper wash, is that right?” He hopes that Remus gets the hint so that he doesn’t have to say the words out loud. _I want you to wash me clean, want to feel your hands on every part of me, and then I want to do the same for you_. “Well, I don’t want you to be cold,” Remus says, striking his wand against one of the taps. A stream of multicoloured bubbles surges out of one tap, while another gushes steaming water that changes colour as the bubbles strike it.

“Then keep me warm,” he suggests, drawing Remus’ attention away from the taps and coaxing him into another kiss, trying not to think about the fact that Remus’ tongue was just in his ear.

Now that the pool is filling, there is some danger of falling in fully clothed, so he reaches for Remus’ robe and snicks the catches undone, pushing the black fabric over Remus’ shoulders and out of his way. Moving to unbutton Remus’ shirt, he pulls away slightly so he can see what he’s doing – button fastenings are still something he is unfamiliar with.

Which, as it happens, is fortunate for both of them, because the next thing he knows is that there is a female voice demanding to know, “Why are there _two_ of you in here? Are you plotting something?”

They both jump apart in shock, searching madly for the source of the sound, which turns out to be a morose looking female ghost pouring herself out of one of the taps behind Remus.

“You look like Regulus Black,” she says suspiciously. “You should hear the things the girls say about you.”

“Who are you?” he demands harshly, his hands clenching in Remus’ clothes.

“They’re nice things that they say. They were right about the looks, but didn’t say anything about a temper,” she says a little sulkily. “There’s no need to shout.” She looks Remus up and down before adding, “You’re not in here often,” in an accusing tone. “You shouldn’t be plotting in here. You’re supposed to set an example for others.”

He feels Remus flinch slightly at the accusation.

“Shut up,” he says curtly. _Don’t you **dare** speak to him like that_. “It’s none of your business. Haven’t you a class room that needs haunting?”

“Oh it’s all very well for _you_,” she says, looking as if she’s about to weep and wail. Which she does. “Free to go wherever you like. _I’ve_ been tied to the school’s pipes for the last - ”

“Yeah? Well go and haunt one of the other bathrooms,” he says, feeling Remus press into him slightly. If the ghost manages to see that Remus’ shirt is unbuttoned almost all the way down, there’s no telling what sort of trouble it will cause.

“It’s not even as if you’re using this one,” she sniffs, affronted.

Losing patience, he reaches for his wand. “You’re interrupting private business. Go away,” he orders, trying to recall what he can about spells that can discourage congregating ghosts and spirits. _Will a simple banishment charm do it?_

“You can’t hurt me with that,” she says, glancing at his wand.

“Maybe not,” he says, standing and forcing himself to straighten out his back, reaching for every inch of height he has, trying to sound as threatening as possible. “But if anybody finds out we were here tonight, I will find out what _will_ hurt you, and then I will find you and _really_ give you something to cry about.”

She stares at him, her ghostly eyes huge behind her ghostly glasses.

“There’s no need for that,” she says reproachfully, on the verge of tears once more. “It’s not often I have someone to talk to,” she adds, clearly appealing to Remus.

Remus looks at him, apparently not sure how to deal with her. His patience snaps and he casts _evanesco_ with all his strength.

“God’s sake, Padfoot, you can’t just remove people like that when they’re inconvenient,” Remus says, wearing the same appalled expression he did when he cast _stupefy_ on the mermaid.

“Yes, I can,” he says firmly, furious at the accusation in Remus’ voice almost as much as he is furious with the interruption. He can feel his resolve ebbing with every passing second. The anticipation will kill him, if Remus doesn’t kill him first. “Let’s go back to the dorm. Wormtail and Prongs have detention anyway.”

Remus turns to face him again, and his blue-green eyes fill with concern. “Padfoot, you’re shaking. Come here.” He relaxes gratefully into Remus’ arms. It is _exhausting_ having to look over his shoulder constantly, in case someone’s there. “Look, the pool’s full,” Remus croons softly, taking Sirius’ wand out of his hand and setting it by the pool’s edge. “Ten minutes, that’s all. Let me give you that wash I owe you, all right? I’ll take care of you, and then we can go back.”

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me, it’s _your_ birthday,” Remus says, stripping his school robe away. “All right?” Remus asks, kissing and stroking and insistently working Sirius’ day robe free as well. He can feel himself calming with every caress.

“No. Not unless you let me take care of you, too,” he says, finding it is impossible to reach Remus’ shirt buttons at the same time as when Remus is undoing the front of his robe.

“Ssh, just give me a minute, and then you can have at me,” Remus promises, impatiently snapping the last hook fastening free and pulling the day robe away as well. “God, look at you, Padfoot,” Remus breathes, stepping back to look at him properly. “If there were a larger mirror in here, I could show you what I see.”

Feeling self-conscious, he uses the opportunity to fully undo Remus’ shirt, and then moves on to Remus’ trousers. For once, the zip doesn’t give him any trouble, and he can feel Remus against his hand, warm and hard on the other side of the shorts he wears under his trousers.

Remus’ hands are all over his body, soft and strong, sending pulses of pleasure straight to his heart and his cock everywhere they touch. When Remus’ hands reach his pants, he hesitates slightly, looking at him as if for permission. “I want this,” he assures Remus, taking the opportunity to brush their lips together.

“I’m glad,” Remus says, stepping out of his trousers and kicking them to one side. The three robes they have between them are placed one on top of the other on the raised pool wall, and Remus pushes him to lie back on them. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he continues, splaying the fingers of one hand out against Sirius’ belly and rubbing.

“I want you, too,” he says, although it’s only been since the start of the year. It’s not the same as ‘I love you’, but it is probably too soon for that. _When is the right time to say it? What if he doesn’t say it back?_

“Never thought you would. I used to think about you every time I wanked, you know? Most of the time, I’d start thinking about you, and then I’d _need_ to wank,” Remus says, smiling down at him. His pants are pulled away and his prick bounces free, almost slapping his stomach. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

“Like you imagined?”

“_Much_ better than I imagined,” Remus says, one hand groping about for the oil phial. Uncapping it, Remus lets a few drops of the oil trickle out to fall on Sirius’ chest, each drop warming as it hits his skin. “That bloody ghost undid all my hard work and made you tense again. You’re even harder up here,” Remus says, stabbing at his shoulder with a finger, “than you are down here,” he finishes, running another finger up the line of his arse, between his balls and straight up his prick.

Remus turns slightly so he can rub his cock against Sirius’ side, one hand working the oil into his chest, spreading that warm sensation. His other hand moves to Sirius’ belly, spider-soft fingers teasing the red line on Sirius’ hips where his pants have been digging into him, and then inexorably back to his cock, causing Sirius to push himself into Remus’ hand.

As always, Remus barely manages to finish wrapping his fingers around Sirius’ erection before he starts to orgasm, and as _always_, Remus looks down at him with a soft, amused smile and kisses him and tells him that he is beautiful, gorgeous, precious, perfect. Sometimes Remus can make him come just from kissing alone, but the other boy always looks disappointed when he does. He can never understand why, though – it might not feel as good as coming after or during sex, but it feels wonderful all the same.

He moves to stop Remus when the other boy reaches for his own cock, and rolls them over so he can sit on the pool’s edge, next to where Remus is lying. “Not this time, Lupin,” he says softly, pushing Remus’ hand aside and lightly tickling the underside of his cock with the pads of his fingers. “You’re mine tonight,” he adds, letting himself leer down at Remus. Remus’ breath catches for a moment, and his hips snap up towards Sirius’ hand.

“You could always massage me instead,” Remus offers in a strangled tone. “Never let it be said that I – oh _God_, Padfoot!” He has lifted the oil phial and dripped some of the liquid onto Remus’ groin, the warm liquid trickling down the firm length of Remus’ cock.

“Oh, did you like that?” he asks, softly teasing. Remus gasps, spreading his legs slightly, and if he were sitting in the right spot, he’d be able to see _everything_. As it is, he lets his hand drop down below Remus’ cock and explores between the other boy’s legs. Remus’ breaths are harsh and sound as though he is fighting for each one. “Ssh,” he soothes softly, placing kisses all over Remus’ face before moving further down Remus’ body to see what he’s doing.

Part of him cringes at how obscene this is, how shaming this is, having his fingers where he does. But the rest of him is enchanted by how beautiful Remus looks right now, his eyes now inhumanly green and wide open, never leaving Sirius’ gaze and shining with desperate need. He smiles inwardly at every small, pleased sound Remus makes when he presses a knuckle into the soft skin behind Remus’ balls, swirling the warm oil all over the underside of his sac.

“Put it in,” Remus gasps out, grabbing at his wrist and moving it lower between his legs. He can feel himself start to harden again at the thought. “Here,” Remus urges, his lips parting in a smile. It will hurt, he’s certain of it, so he leans forward to kiss Remus firmly on the mouth as he works his index finger down and in.

_I’ve my finger inside Remus Lupin_, he thinks giddily, on the verge of giggling, _and I love it_.

A soft, low noise fights its way out of Remus’ throat – it’s something he’s only heard recently, ever since Remus told him how much he likes being scratched behind the ears.

_You love it, too_, he thinks, settling himself at Remus’ side and not sure what to do next. He wriggles his finger experimentally, causing Remus to twist, mouthing a wordless cry.

“_Here_,” Remus says, reaching one of his own fingers down to press just behind his balls. “Try and touch my hand through… through my skin.”

“Pardon?”

“Where my hand is,” Remus says, sounding almost as though he is in pain. “Try and touch that spot from the inside.”

Frowning slightly, he works more of his finger inside, and is amazed when he can feel the exact spot where Remus’ left index finger is pushing into his body from the outside. “Got you,” he says with a smile, pushing his finger against Remus’.

“Oh, sweet _fuck_!” Remus screams, his body twisting up off the pool wall. He jumps in alarm, and almost wrenches his finger out again, but Remus sits up and uses his right hand to restrain Sirius’ wrist. “Don’t _do_ that!”

“Stop yelling at me! Let me get it out then, I was just about to before you started shrieking!”

“No,” Remus says, sounding slightly calmer, but still as if he is in considerable pain. “Leave it there, but just…not so hard, just swipe it,” Remus says, releasing his wrist and using his right thumb to swipe gently over one of Sirius’ nipples, “like that.”

“Like that,” he repeats softly, mimicking the motion, surprised at the way his cock jumps in response to the way Remus just touched his nipple.

“Yes, that’s it. Just _there_,” Remus pants, moving his left hand away from between his legs, and reaching for his cock.

“It’s still there,” he says, gently rubbing the pad of his finger over the same little upraised spot he mistook for Remus’ finger being pushed in from the outside.

“Of course it’s still there – _ah_ – that’s the beauty of fucking after all, having someone’s cock inside you, constantly pushing against – oh God, _Padfoot_ – that.” He knocks Remus’ hand off his prick and replaces it with his own. “Do you want to? Tonight? I - ”

There is a hammering on the door, rattling the bolt in its slot.

“Padfoot!” Remus’ soft wail goes straight to his stomach, as he pulls away and glares at the door. “_Christ_, don’t ever pull out of me like that again.” The door remains shut, but the hammering continues. _Not one of the Professors, then_. “_Padfoot_,” Remus whispers fiercely, “get back here at once.” Ignoring Remus, he rinses his hands in the pool, and retrieves his wand from the edge.

“It’s Filch,” he says, after summoning the Map to himself and watching the dots marked ‘Argus Filch’ and ‘Mrs Norris’ outside the door. Still with his wand in his hand, he goes over to his robes and slings the black Hogwarts robe over his sweaty body.

Remus is at his side in an instant, still hard and equally slick with perspiration. “You can’t _obliviate_ Filch, Padfoot!”

“I think you’ll find I’m more than capable,” he says coldly, furious at being interrupted yet _again_. “He has no business - ”

“Black! If you’re in there, it’ll be detention scrubbing the Prefect’s pool clean without magic for a month!”

“How does he know it’s you?” Remus asks, looking concerned.

“I ran into Snivellus. He suspected I might be meeting you up here,” he says, his fury transferring smoothly from Filch to Snape. _Why can’t he keep his nose to himself?_

“Answer me, boy! Or I’ll fetch the Headmaster this minute,” Filch bellows again.

“Get in the water,” Remus says. “Leave it to me.”

He clears the Map – if they’re about to caught, it’s not going to be with the Map on display – and places it on top of Remus’ scrip. Ignoring Remus’ instructions, he wraps his robe around himself more tightly, sits on the pool’s edge out of sight of the door and fumes.

“It’s Remus Lupin,” Remus calls out through the door, sounding calm and assured. “What’s the matter?”

“Sirius Black’s in there, and he’s in more trouble than his pampered hide is worth.”

“No, he isn’t,” Remus lies smoothly. “He was in Gryffindor Tower last I saw him.”

“We’ll see about that. Open the door!”

“I’ve nothing on, give me a minute,” Remus says, turning away from the door and walking toward him in alarm. “Get behind the door,” Remus whispers. “You slip out when I let him in.”

Catching his breath, he’s about to tell Remus that there’s no way he’s going out into the school dressed only in an over robe with nothing underneath but an erection. He’s barely drawn breath to _say_ the words when the flap at the bottom of the door swings open and Mrs Norris daintily steps into the bathroom, her eyes latching onto the Map. Every door in the school has the same, magical cat-flap built into it, although the four of them assumed it was for McGonagall rather than Mrs Norris.

“Christ, Padfoot,” Remus whispers, his fingers tightening around Sirius’ arm. Mrs Norris’ strange, golden eyes lift to regard them, and he’s almost certain he sees her smirk ‘caught you’ at him. She seizes the Map between her teeth, snarling at Remus when he tries to get it from her.

“Mrs Norris,” he says softly, going over to crouch down next to Remus. Most cats like him. Most kneazles, too. Perhaps she won’t tell Filch if he asks? “Mrs Norris, please don’t give me away.” She purrs softly, winding herself around his ankles. “Gorgeous cat,” he says, stroking her soft, grey fur. She gives a pleased growl and rubs her head up into his hand. “Can I have our Map back, please?”

She jumps suddenly, landing in his arms and rubbing her face against his.

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Remus says, slightly too loudly. “Would you just snatch the Map away from that flea ridden - ”

“Ssh, Moony. Mrs Norris isn’t flea ridden, are you, sweet?” Remus makes an impatient noise behind him, but Mrs Norris climbs onto his shoulder, purring contentedly, still with the Map in her mouth. “No, you’re such a lovely cat, you wouldn’t get us into trouble, would you? Not when we’ll come and see you after and bring you something from the kitchen. Can I have - ” he tries to pull the Map from her mouth, but she refuses to relinquish it.

As is usually the case, he’s not certain _how_ he knows what an animal is thinking, but he _is_ certain that she won’t give them away to Filch, even if she wants to keep the Map.

“Let her go,” Remus says softly from behind. “Better that Filch gets the Map than you.”

There’s no point arguing. Not when Remus is right. Setting Mrs Norris down gently, he gives her back one last stroke before standing upright again. She lets herself out the flap again, and they can hear Filch grunt in disappointment, before his slow, defeated footsteps become softer and softer.

“That was far too close,” he says, swiping a hand over his brow, giddy with relief.

“Oh I don’t know,” Remus says, his fingers pulling Sirius’ robe off and making him naked again. “Seems to _me_ that _someone_ enjoyed that far too much,” Remus continues softly, reaching for Sirius’ erection. “_That_ certainly wasn’t there before Filch turned up. Do you like the idea that someone might walk in on us at any moment? Or is it the thought of being watched, hmm?” He goes bright red in a second, refusing to turn around and look Remus in the eye. “That explains this morning, doesn’t it? Torturing me while Wormtail and Prongs were there to hear. Did it increase the - ”

“Stop it, Moony,” he says, not ready to be teased over it. Especially since he thinks it might even be true.

_That’s the whole thrill of being a Maruader, surely? Never knowing if you’re going to get away with it, or knowing you might be caught at any moment. Where’s the fun in pranking when you **know** you won’t be caught?_

“No? It’s the heightened awareness, isn’t it? On edge constantly, straining your hearing, your sight, your sense of touch for that first warning that someone might be - ”

“I said _stop it_,” he says, far more fiercely than he intended, pulling away from Remus and turning to face him angrily. Remus looks startled. “Not today, all right?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it Sirius,” Remus says, sounding patient and understanding, which probably means he’s upset the other boy. “I’m not asking because I think you’re disgusting. I’m asking because I want to know how to get you off properly.”

Remus doesn’t sound hurt or injured, but he knows that the other boy will be, for no other reason than because he doubted Remus’ intentions. _What a mess_, he thinks, trying to come up with a way out of this. _He’s upset because I was upset at something he did that wasn’t supposed to upset me. For fuck’s sake._

“All right,” he says softly, hoping Remus will forgive him.

They kiss rather solemnly, with nothing of their earlier fervour, but when Remus pulls him into his body, plastering their bodies against one another – _that_ certainly feels like forgiveness.

“So,” Remus says, “do you?”

“Do I what?” he sings, grinning at Remus.

“Do you enjoy it?” Remus sings back, before his voice drops to a dark, husky tone, asking, “Are you a dirty, deviant, little Dark Wizard who needs the thrill of that risk to get off?” He laughs this time, the sound almost a giggle and Remus runs his fingers along his sides, tickling him and making him giggle more. “It’s all right if you do,” Remus says easily. “It makes sense, actually. With your mania of locking every door behind you, it shouldn’t be surprising that you derive such pleasure out of knowing that someone might walk in and catch you in a compromising – Yes, I think you like that, don’t you?” Remus says warmly, one hand pressed flat against the length of his erection. “Want me to unbolt the door?”

_Ohh…_ His cock jumps at that, smacking into Remus’ palm. “Don’t you dare,” he whispers back. He can feel himself go tense, and then – “_Moony…_”

Remus doesn’t relent, even as Sirius writhes against him, starting to come. _Again._

“Or I could drag you out to the Astronomy Tower in the middle of the night, and you’ll never know if we’ll be able to get away clean, or if we’ll get caught like Gudgeon and Morphew…” He is shaking again, but this time it is with pleasure, now that Remus has his hand firmly around his prick, working it gently as though trying to milk it dry. “Or better still, if someone sees us, but doesn’t interrupt us – just stays and watches, never says a word. And we’d _never know about it_. Oh yes,” Remus says, sounding satisfied rather than amused as he continues to come all over Remus’ fingers, “I think you’d _love_ that.”

“All hells, Moony, you have to stop saying filthy things like that,” he pants, leaning back against the other boy, loving the sensation of Remus’ arms around him as his cock pulses against Remus’ hand. “You’re going to make me hard all over again.”

“Filthy? I haven’t even started,” Remus says in mock horror. “Still sure you don’t want me to lick you clean?” he offers, in a hushed, dirty whisper.

“You really expect me to believe you can clean anything with a tongue that filthy?” he teases, feeling Remus laugh into his neck.

“Well, it was worth a try. Come on, into the pool. I’ll try and be satisfied with only being able to use my hands on you.”

“This has been nothing more than an elaborate attempt to get into my pants, has it?” he says lightly, smiling as he says the words.

Remus spins around to face him. “How dare you, Black,” he says, sounding affronted. “There is _nothing_ elaborate about any of this.” Remus picks him up again, walking into the still-warm water in the pool. “You can hardly accuse me of elaborate designs on you. There’s been nothing terribly subtle about any aspect of this seduction.”

And that makes him laugh, because ‘seduction’ is not something he ever imagined he’d be treated to.

All his life, he was brought up knowing that his parents would select a suitable match, and certainly there would be a courtship lasting a few months – mostly for the look of the thing. Letters, sweet words, expensive gifts and the like would be exchanged, but all of the meetings would take place with a chaperone from one or both of the Houses present. Nothing so carnal as a _seduction_ would take place until well after the spells of marriage and bonding were set in place – if at all.

And here is Remus Lupin, determined to win him because_…why? Because I’m beautiful? Because he wants to fuck me? Because he wants me to fuck him? Because he loves me?_ He squeals as they enter the water because it is cold at first and then wonderfully warming as Remus lowers him into it, and Remus grins and calls him ‘piglet’ fondly, and kisses the tip of his nose again. _All of this effort, all for me._

“Shall we continue from where we left off?” Remus asks, setting him on his feet, but leaving his arms around him.

“Where was that, then?”

“You know what it felt like, having this inside me,” Remus says, taking his index finger and drawing it into his mouth in a sucking kiss. _Yes_. Incredible: hot, soft pressure pushing against his finger from every direction. “Do you want to feel that around your cock?” The organ in question gives an interested twitch, even though he’s only just come. “We can do it tonight,” Remus offers softly, reaching for one of the sponges and running it not very efficiently but very, _very_ erotically up between his thighs. “If you want.”

He can’t deal with this level of intimacy, not until he knows what lies behind it.

“What I want… Well, if you want to get into my pants, Lupin, you’re going to have to seduce me properly,” he says lightly. Remus throws the sponge at his head, and he dodges with a laugh. “None of this being treated to half a massage, while being terrified every thirty seconds by portraits, ghosts, kneazles and squibs walking in on us. I want dinner, and dancing, and - ”

“Candles? A string quartet? I don’t know, Padfoot,” Remus says doubtfully, abandoning bathing him and stretching onto his back to float on the water. “It’s all starting to sound a bit too much like hard work.”

“I’ll have you know I don’t come cheap,” he says, grinning down at Remus, placing his hands on the other boy’s stomach and dunking him. He makes it to the other side of the pool before the upper half of Remus’ face rises from the water, eyes narrowed with annoyance.

“_I’ll_ have you know,” Remus growls, wiping wet, sodden hair out of his eyes as he stands up, “that you won’t come _at all_ unless you’re a lot nicer to me.” Remus lunges for him, but he anticipates the move and dodges out of the way.

He kicks into the deep end of the pool and allows Remus to catch him, seizing him by the shoulders and pushing him backward against the side of the pool, their lips latching onto one another’s fiercely, desperately, and one of Remus’ hands moves back to his nipple, stroking over the slippery flesh and sending its own flashes of pain and arousal straight back to his cock.

It is only as he wraps his legs around Remus for the second time that day – wanting to hold onto him in any way he can, wanting to hold onto him forever as he feels the other boy come against his belly – that he realises for the first time that he’s forgotten to be ashamed.


	13. March 1977 (James)

He scratches his butter-knife idly on the surface of their table. After spending the last four nights cleaning tables in every room McGonagall can think of – each filthier than the last – there is something remarkably satisfying about scraping the veneer away for his own entertainment.

“At least you were able to come into Hogsmeade,” Remus says, looking up expectantly as Peter returns with their drinks.

He snorts in disgust, wondering how much longer Sirius is likely to be. Pausing in his scratching for a moment, he rests the knife to admire his work. The heart is always the hardest part – letters like ‘L’ and ‘E’ are angular enough that he can scratch them into the surface of the table without too much trouble but the heart… That almost _always_ goes wonky, and he can never get it perfectly symmetrical.

“Oh yeah,” he says, attempting dry sarcasm and only managing petulant childishness, “only after being given detention for the whole week prior to that.” His attempt at sarcasm simply bounces off the other boy who smiles expectantly at the door when it swings open.

Davin Gudgeon and Rita Morphew give him a shy smile as they enter, and he tries to summon a stern glare for them. _They better not got caught snogging again_, he thinks with righteous ire, ignoring the voice in the back of his mind that he wouldn’t sound so high and mighty if Lily finally deigned to give him the time of day.

“I did warn you not to - ” Remus starts to say.

“It was worth it,” he says determinedly. Worth the detentions, worth having to spend every night of the last week scrubbing at something or other…

McGonagall cleaned the tables straight after breakfast with a flick of her wand, while he and Peter were made to apologise to the House-elves. After dinner, she Summoned the filth back again and watched over them as they did the best they could without magic.

_She might as well not have let us use soap or water either, for all the good it did._

Four nights, spent scrubbing every table in the school from the ones in the filthy Potions dungeons to the Herbology workbenches, having to listen to Peter moan about how it was _barbaric_ being made to do it without magic. Somewhere in the midst of all that, Sirius and Remus managed to lose the Map to _Filch_, McKinnon kept threatening dire things when he’d been forced to cancel Quidditch practices for the week on account of having detention, and Meadowes had _not_ been pleased they’d wriggled out of punishment from her and found a way of punishing them anyway.

But all of it _was_ worth it, whatever Remus insisted in his mild ‘I told you so’ way, because this morning, Sirius finally made an appointment to get his hair cut, and have his robes altered so that they fit properly, and James knows his best friend well enough to know that when Sirius is worried about how he looks, it is because there isn’t anything else for him to worry about.

_It cheered him up, if nothing else_, he thinks, picking up the knife again and contemplating having a go at doing the heart around the initials. Peter places the tray in front of him, on top of his writing, just as the door opens and Sirius enters. Seeing Sirius, Peter drops onto the bench next to Remus, leaving the space next to him free.

“There’s only three mugs,” Sirius says, glancing at the tray.

“Oh…” Peter says, in the middle of standing up again.

“Go and get one for yourself, why don’t you,” Sirius suggests, and once Peter goes back to the bar, Sirius takes his place next to Remus. Reaching for the tray, Sirius pulls the drinks towards himself, places one the mugs in front of Remus and takes one of the others for himself before shoving the tray back to James.

“You don’t think they cut too much off, do you?” Remus asks, looking at Sirius closely.

And instead of telling to Remus to sod off as he normally would, Sirius _smiles_, and asks, “Why, don’t you like it?”

Peter comes scampering back with his mug before James can put his finger on what is bothering him.

“The tables weren’t even the worst of it,” Peter says, continuing the conversation from where he left it. Sirius and Remus turn to look at Peter, as he squeezes onto the bench next to James. “We’re going to get it every time we have Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

He rolls his eyes and for a moment things seem to return to normal when he sees Sirius do the same. The day after Sirius’ birthday, when he dragged himself out of bed after only getting into it at three o’clock that same morning, Meadowes took one look at Peter and himself, still groggy after scrubbing down the Great Hall like Muggles, and decided to show the class how to protect themselves from hexes and jinxes. Without wands.

_Since Mr Potter and Mr Pettigrew have enough time on their hands to organise the sort of chaos they so kindly provided for us yesterday at breakfast, I am confident that the two of them are sufficiently on top of their studies to demonstrate for us today._

She made them stand at the front of the room while the rest of the class flung hexes at them. It wasn’t too bad for him. Being short and thin made it fairly easy to dodge most of the flares of light directed at him. Peter wasn’t as lucky, and was taken to see Madam Pomfrey when a nasty jinx from Priyanka Yadev knocked the blackboard off the wall and onto his head.

“She’ll get tired of it eventually, Wormtail,” Remus soothes. “I’m sure she’ll find someone else’s life to make miserable.”

“_I_ can’t believe Evans hexed me with _furnunculus_.”

“Less of your face to look at, that way Potter,” Lily says, as she and Marlene enter. He and Marlene exchange a glare. _It wouldn’t be so bad if I could get her on her own, away from McKinnon._

“Took a bit of doing, too,” Marlene says, “covering the whole of your enormous head in boils.”

“Well, with such a large target…” Lily says, smirking. He’s immensely grateful to Peter for placing the tray over the letters he was defacing the table with – the last thing he needs right now is for either her or Marlene to see ‘L.E.’ surrounded in a heart and be able to pin it on him.

“So was the chocolate to your satisfaction?” Sirius asks smoothly, as though nothing has happened.

Lily’s face seems to be nearly as red as his must be, but she turns to answer Sirius. “I said we’d replace it,” she replies, her voice hitching just slightly. The lack of a vicious response suggests… _I don’t know **what** it suggests. What the hell just happened here? And why is **Padfoot** giving my girlfriend chocolate?_

“I’m not sure you can,” Sirius says, sounding annoyed.

“God’s sake, Black, it was only mint chocolate, not bloody manna from Heaven. We can buy it anywhere,” Lily says, sounding furious.

“I notice that didn’t prevent you eating _all_ of Sirius’ chocolate,” Remus says mildly. “From _stealing_ and eating all of his chocolate. On his birthday, too.”

_**What** the bloody hell is going on? What chocolate?_

“You’re a Prefect, Evans. What’s the penalty for theft, anyway?” Sirius asks with a sly smile.

“I already said it was an accident that - ”

“Yeah, you _accidentally_ went into our dorm when none of us were there. You _accidentally_ broke into my trunk and you _accidentally_ ate all the rest of my birthday chocolate. Can’t see how you could have avoided it really.”

“I gave you my word we’d set it right,” Marlene says with dignity, refusing to let Sirius bully her. Perhaps they are suited to one another. Standing up to Sirius when he has an axe to grind can’t be the easiest thing to –

“Like I said, I’m not sure you can. Stealing from one of us is stealing from all four of us,” Sirius adds, raising a contemptuous eyebrow. “I can’t think of anything you could do for any one of the four of us,” he continues, turning to look pointedly at James before turning back to Lily, “that would make up for it.”

Lily looks absolutely incandescent with rage before she and Marlene storm away.

“What the bloody fuck is going on!” he yells once Lily and Marlene are out of earshot.

“Settle down, Prongs,” Sirius says, waving a conciliatory hand.

“Settle _down_? You just tried to _bribe_ her into going out with me,” he splutters.

“Like you’ve never tried it on yourself,” Sirius says smoothly, taking another swig from his drink as though it is more important than James.

“I don’t need your help with Evans!” Sirius and Remus exchange an amused smile, which makes his blood boil. “You’re supposed to be on _my_ side,” he reminds Sirius.

“I _am_ on your side,” Sirius replies. “McKinnon accosted me after final class and was about to start in on me about what a horrible Captain you were for landing in detention and I offered her some of my chocolate to get her to shut up and leave me alone. If I hadn’t, Marlene would have bored me to tears with how she was going to be Captain next year, I’d have hexed her and Lily would never have spoken to you again.”

“Yes Padfoot, we’re all blessed to have a friend like you,” Remus says, smiling.

“You can shut up, too,” he says furiously, taking another swig from the mug.

“It’s not Moony’s fault,” Sirius says sharply. _Don’t snap at **me**_. “They broke into our dorm and ate the rest of my chocolate. We walked in after midnight and caught them red-handed, all right? _We_ didn’t do anything wrong.”

“It’s only _sweets_, Padfoot, it’s not as though they tried to make off with your signet ring.”

“Well at least this way, Marlene will stop trying to undermine you, since we’ve managed to catch her out in something.”

“What’s this about McKinnon?” Remus asks.

“She thinks she’ll make a better Captain than Prongs,” Peter supplies, sounding suitably scandalised. “Padfoot thinks she’s trying to show she’s better by showing him up.”

“She _is_,” Sirius says firmly. “She’s made the Chasers and Beaters practise all week, even without him there. She interrupts Prongs, disagrees with him in front of the rest of the team, and keeps telling him to do things he’s about to do anyway so that it looks like he’s doing them because she’s told him to.”

_Yeah, well she’s not the only one, is she_, he thinks, glaring at Remus.

“I can’t believe Evans is friends with her,” he says. “And I can’t believe _you_ tried to bribe Evans.”

“Never mind Prongs,” Remus tells Sirius, as though James can’t hear them. “He’s just upset that Evans raided your trunk instead of his and made off with your chocolate instead of with his pants.”

“Where were the two of you, then?” Peter asks, sounding confused. Sirius and Remus stare as though they’ve only just realised that Peter is there at all.

“They were off somewhere having the Map confiscated,” he says sourly. Sirius still won’t tell him how it happened, only cursing Filch loudly whenever the subject is broached. “We’ll have to get started on putting another one together.”

“I don’t think so,” Sirius says dismissively. He stiffens in his chair, as Sirius and Remus look at one another again. “That thing took forever to write, and there might be a better way.”

“We were taking it for granted, anyway,” Remus says. They’ve obviously discussed this – without him. _McKinnon definitely isn’t the only one trying to undermine me_. “What we really need is a way to communicate with one another.”

“Besides talking to one another, you mean?” he snipes.

Again, Remus ignores the flare of temper, smiling calmly as he elaborates. “We need to be able to communicate over long distances.”

“How does that help with anything? The Map told us where everyone else was.”

“You think Filch won’t be suspicious if he sees us with another Map? Or anything that looked like one?” Sirius says, sounding nettled.

“Fine. What do you suggest?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he is aware of Peter looking beyond Sirius. He turns to see what Peter is looking at and sees a flash of red over Sirius’ shoulder. It’s Lily Evans, who for some reason has come to their side of the bar to order drinks.

Sirius looks almost amused when he notices that James hasn’t heard a word he’s said.

“Go and talk to her, then,” Sirius says, nodding in her direction. Lily, who is looking over at them looks away immediately at Sirius’ gesture. “You won’t be fit to live with until you have.”

Peter scrambles off the bench to let him past. He does feel slightly ashamed of himself, since he has no reason to doubt that Sirius is sincerely on _his_ side when it comes to Lily. If it weren’t for Sirius, they’d still be hexing the Slytherins in the hallways rather than dreaming up more elaborate, subtle ways of making them cry.

At least this way, he spends less time in detention, and… Lily’s noticed. She _must_ have, a fact that makes him worry about what else she might have noticed, or what Marlene may have told her.

“You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy the display just a _little_,” he says, joining her at the bar and realising that as an opening, he could probably do better.

“Oh, perhaps a _little_,” she concedes. “I think my favourite part was seeing the look on your face when Meadowes cornered you.”

That isn’t what he wants to hear, but something occurs to him and his mouth is forming the words without any intervention from his brain. “Stare at me a lot, do you?”

Those amazing, green eyes go wide, but only for a moment before she smiles at him, and he knows that it’s the only answer he’s going to get. For a moment, he’s almost certain she might be _flirting_ with him, because she’s smiling rather than saying, ‘Shut up, Potter.’ But then she goes and ruins everything by saying, “Are the four of you leaving already?” He blinks at her, not certain where this is going. “If you are, could we have your table?”

Turning around, he can see Sirius and Remus standing and talking to someone who looks quite a bit like Sirius’ father. _Must be one of his uncles_. He’s always found it slightly creepy the way everyone in Sirius’ family so closely resembles everyone else. _That’s inbreeding for you, I suppose. If they weren’t so fussy about pure-blood lines, their children wouldn’t look like carbon copies of themselves._

“So are you leaving soon?” Lily says insistently. The least she could do is sound regretful – this is the first time he’s had a civil conversation with her.

“I’ll find out what’s going on,” he says, trying not to sound annoyed as he makes his way back to their table. “What _is_ going on?” he demands of Peter when he gets there.

“Alphard Black,” the man says as he turns to face James.

He shakes hands with Sirius’ uncle, wondering if all the rumours about him are true. He’s dressed in black, Wizarding robes that are cut and draped more conservatively than anything even James’ own grandparents possess, let alone wear. Abruptly, he realises that Lily is probably watching him to see whether or not she can have their table, and he starts wondering whether or not _she’s_ heard the rumours about Alphard Black.

“Yeah,” he says nervously, trying to not to let it show. “James Potter.”

“Cassie” – Sirius’ mother – “wasn’t able to make her usual arrangements for Sirius’ birthday. I didn’t want Sirius thinking his family had forgotten him, so I thought that I’d arrange something for the four of you.”

“Oh,” he says stupidly, trying to think of a way out of this.

Sirius is his best friend, and in all honesty, there are very few things he won’t do for Sirius. But celebrating his birthday with the House of Black? Or, for that matter, doing _anything_ that involves Sirius’ staid, conservative, maddening relatives?

Back in second year, James’ family invited the other three to stay for the Easter holidays. Sirius wasn’t able to get away from his family commitments – he mentioned something in a letter about his parents having a party for his birthday, but that he wasn’t inviting the rest of them because he didn’t want them to suffer. So Remus and James decided they would take themselves to London for the evening and break Sirius out of there for a few hours.

Reaching the Black family home in Grimmauld Place, they decided not to go through the front door, and snuck around to the back to try and find Sirius. However, the Black mansion had many entrances, several of which were decoys that led into the dungeons, and _of course_ they’d chosen one of the latter, and been trapped for what seemed like hours before an irate pair of House-elves appeared and told them they ‘should have knocked’.

Remus was convinced Sirius’ parents would have them executed for trespassing, but by the time they were brought to Cassiopeia and Antares Black, the ball had been going for several hours. Sirius’ mum and dad must have been fairly well pissed because they seemed to be in a good mood, and even found a room for Remus and James to wait in while Sirius disentangled himself from whichever pure-blood he was making polite conversation with.

They were invited to stay the night, and returned to the Potter home in Somerset the next morning, but not until after the two of them suffered hour after hour of stultifying small talk, boring dancing with stupid pure-blood girls and being sneered at by _Rosier_ and _Malfoy_, both of whom Sirius had always pretended not to know when they were at school.

_Celebrate Padfoot’s birthday with his maddening family, or have lunch with Evans? Let me think hard…_

Sirius and Remus are standing together on one side of Mr Black, and Peter is standing on the other, obviously waiting for his cue.

“I would like to,” he starts, feeling like a heel at the way Sirius’ expression shifts from a smile into careful blankness, “but I’ve already made a date for lunch.” Peter looks at him in alarm. “And so has Peter,” he adds as an afterthought. Peter wasn’t with them at Sirius’ birthday in second year, but he and Remus have repeated the tale often enough – usually out of Sirius’ hearing – for him to know not to want to go.

He tries not to look pleadingly at Sirius, or even at Remus who will probably says something like ‘What do you mean you’ve got a date? You didn’t have one ten minutes ago. If I have to suffer, so do you’.

“Finally said yes, did she?” Sirius says, smiling at last.

“Well you mustn’t let your date down, must you?” Mr Black says politely, although he looks over at Lily with an amused smile.

“No indeed,” Sirius says, looking directly at him. “Can you wait outside? I’ll catch up in a minute.” Mr Black nods his assent and says it was nice to meet them. “You too, Moony,” Sirius says without looking at him. Remus leaves with Mr Black, and Peter leaves them a discreet distance.

“Padfoot,” he starts. “There’s no where else for her to sit, so I thought since there’s room at our table…”

“You’re the most pathetic friend in the world, bailing on my birthday for a stupid girl,” Sirius says, wearing the polite expression he always does when he’s raging and doesn’t want it to show.

“I’ve suffered four nights of detentions because of your birthday!”

“And that’s the only reason I’m still speaking to you now,” Sirius says, with a small grin. “But tell me – are you staying because she said yes, or because of what you’ve heard about my uncle?”

“Are the rumours true?”

“That he’s queer?” The word seems too loud and he wants to tell Sirius to keep his voice down, but no one around them glances across. “Yes, he is. I’ve met his partner. They’re all right.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” he says truthfully. “It’s just… Well, you didn’t tell us about this - ”

“Because I didn’t _know_ until he walked in just now.”

“ – and I think Lily might actually have a drink with me, or lunch or something.”

“It’s all right,” Sirius says, with a crooked smile. “You can make it up to me later by thanking me for bribing her.”

The words are said lightly, but he knows he’s upset Sirius as the other boy turns without waiting for a reply, and walks out of the Three Broomsticks. This leaves him with Peter, Marlene and – most importantly – _Lily_. Watching the door open, he can see Sirius force a smile as he leaves, and he tells himself that he’s only staying because of Lily, and not because of Sirius’ horrible family.

_He doesn’t need me to be there_, he tells himself, wondering why he feels unsettled, and then forgets all about Sirius as he waves Lily and Marlene over to their table.


	14. March 1977 (Sirius)

By the time they reach the entrance to the Hydra, he’s in a far better mood than he was at lunch after James refused to join them. In fact, he’s actually slightly relieved that James decided to stay back with Lily, and made Peter stay back as well, because Alphard took them to lunch in London instead of in Hogsmeade, and the rest of the afternoon has been one long date with Remus.

_We’re not having lunch in Hogsmeade_, Remus said, as soon as the door to the Three Broomsticks closed behind him.

_Aren’t we_? he asked, slightly confused and more than furious with James for being such a prat over Alphard and worrying about the stupid rumours – even if they _were_ true.

_No, Sirius_, Alphard said, _We’re going in to London. I’ll drop the two of you off and will see you later in the evening, at the club._

And then Alphard did just that, leaving him in Diagon Alley with Remus and telling them to come to the Hydra at half eight.

Four days, since he told Remus what he wanted the two of them to do together for his birthday, and Remus arranged the entire thing. _Four days_! It isn’t the first time he’s been given nice things, but people normally haven’t asked him what he wanted in advance.

They spent nearly the entire day together alone after having lunch in Diagon Alley, going shopping for new Muggle clothes for both of them, and then exploring Muggle London with Remus telling everyone that Sirius was a friend from out of town. _Out of town…I was bloody born in and grew up in this city, and never even heard of half the things Moony takes for granted._

Now, finally after dinner, they’re at the entry to his uncle’s club, with Remus smiling and holding the door open for him. “You first. Do you want to look for your uncle? I can get us - ” Remus stops talking as they walk through the door, and into an alley way. “What the fuck - ”

“Are you sure that was the right door?” It’s only the second time he’s come to his uncle’s club without his uncle, but he’s fairly sure that the door Remus is holding is the right one.

“Positive,” Remus says, sounding slightly puzzled. “It’s always worked before,” Remus continues, hauling him backward by the waist-band of his trousers so he can close the door, still looking puzzled. The door to the club is opposite the block of apartments his uncle lives in with his partner. He’s sure he can see Alphard’s flat from here, and he’s also sure there’s no one at home. Remus glances around the square, and opens the door again.

“It’s worked,” Remus says, in obvious relief. The minute he comes to Remus’ side, however, they’re staring through a doorway looking into an alley. “All right. Clearly it’ll let me in, but not you. Wait here, I’ll get your uncle,” he says, and the next minute, Remus has gone through into the Hydra, and he’s left abandoned outside.

He checks the back pocket of his black velvet trousers to make sure his wand is still there – it feels odd, not wearing a robe with the neatly stitched inside-pocket that normally holds his wand. If he has to draw it quickly, he’ll lose precious seconds by reaching for the wrong place by reflex.

“Hey there, pup,” he hears Alphard call out. “I forgot to change the wards. They normally won’t let you in unless you’re of age. Here, wear this,” he continues, handing Sirius an amulet. “It’ll let you move about the club freely.”

As always, once they’re past the entry way and into the club proper, the noise is deafening. _Where’d Moony go_? He can’t see Remus anywhere around, but it’s dark inside, and the lights keep flickering and changing colours. Once they get past the press of people and up the stairs into the restricted section, the noise diminishes somewhat. It’ll be much easier to hear the music from here once the band takes the stage.

“Technically, you’re not supposed to speak while you’re up here,” Marius – Alphard’s partner – says in greeting, “but when you’re the owner’s nephew…well. All bets are off.”

“Where’s Remus?”

“No idea,” Marius says, glancing around. “I’m sure he’ll turn up sooner rather than later. If I were him, I wouldn’t leave my boyfriend on his own, dressed as you are.”

If he could have one wish come true for his birthday, it would be never to blush again.

“Perhaps we could have a chat before he gets back,” Alphard says carefully, just as Marius remembers he has somewhere else he needs to be and excuses himself politely. “Have you heard from your mother recently?”

“She didn’t really send you, did she?”

“Of course not, don’t be stupid. Well?”

“She sent me a letter recently. With a money order. Do you know anything about it?”

“Cassie misses you, Puppy. She wants you to come home desperately. You’ve heard about the Death Eaters?”

“Of course,” he says impatiently. By now, _everyone’s_ heard of Voldemort and his anonymous followers. “What about them?”

“Well, the Ministry’s getting better – and that isn’t saying much – at working out who they are,” Alphard says carefully. “If you read the Prophet closely, you’ll see that they might be getting ready to start apprehending and questioning some of the suspects. The trouble is, of course, that the _guilty_ suspects are somewhat reluctant to allow themselves to be apprehended, or questioned.”

“Does this have anything to do with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement wanting to give Aurors permission to use the Unforgivables when apprehending suspects?”

“Clever boy,” his uncle says with a fond smile. “Yes, exactly.”

A boy in the uniform of the club staff quietly unloads a tray of drinks onto their table, giving Sirius a shy smile at the same time. In the odd coloured lighting inside the club, it’s hard for him to know what colour the boy’s hair and eyes are.

“Regulus told me his friend’s father isn’t trying for Minister, anymore,” he says, once the boy moves into the darkness and out of earshot.

“No, Barty Senior most certainly isn’t,” Alphard says, waving a swizzle stick at him. “He’s aiming for the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, if I guess correctly. There’s a war on, after all, and the better - ”

“No there isn’t,” he says.

“Not a war, then,” Alphard says, waving a hand impatiently. “A series of fairly brutal battles that will _become_ a war once both sides declare it. If Crouch gets the position he’s aiming for, he’ll have direct control of the Aurors, and it won’t be long after that until war _is_ declared by the Ministry.”

“What’s that got to do with - ” He’s being stupid, and naïve. Asking the wrong questions. “She needs my vote, doesn’t she?”

“_Exactly_. She may not have decided which side she’s going to come down on in this, but you can be certain that she’ll want you to vote as you’re told when the time comes. The Ministry is currently arguing over the wording of the new rules, but that should be done before the year is out.

“This time next year, you’ll be of age, and she’ll have need of you more, but don’t doubt for a moment that she still needs you _now_. She’s not well, you know that. She hasn’t attended many of the meetings, and she doesn’t host any of them any more. Regulus can’t do everything by himself. She needs you to come back and help her.”

“Then she has to vote to allow it,” he says. Alphard looks slightly surprised. “That’ll show she’s in support of Death Eater suspects actually getting _arrested_. Otherwise, we’re sending our people out to capture the enemy without giving them the ability to protect themselves against Death Eaters who won’t hesitate to use Unforgivables on them.”

“Been looking into it, have you?”

“With Regulus, mostly,” he admits. It is almost embarrassing the number of things Regulus is able to pick up by simply scanning over the Prophet. _I should be going to the meetings with him, not cribbing off him going through the paper everyday_. For some reason, the thought makes him terribly homesick. “Just about everyone on the Council who is against giving Aurors the new powers is affiliated with Death Eaters, or they’re members of Wilkes’ faction. They won’t want it to be a fair fight, will they?” Alphard is still frowning. “The Aurors want it, _Crouch_ wants it, and he’ll be head of Magical Law Enforcement, if all goes well. How they can reject my application after that?”

“Do you really want to be an Auror that badly?”

“You don’t approve?”

“I’m just surprised,” Alphard says, before changing the subject. “So who managed to put most of that together – you or Regulus?”

“I did!” he says a little too defensively. And then, to be fair he adds, “Regulus is better at it, though. Probably because he loves it so much.”

Regulus adores the intrigue, loves being able to slot the pieces of the puzzle together, and he’s _brilliant_ at reading several pieces of seemingly unrelated information and identifying the links between them. He tells himself that the main reason he was still speaking to Regulus – before the incident at breakfast in the Great Hall – was because his brother is one of the few people in the school with the interest _and_ the intellect to go through the Prophet and draw the right conclusions. It has nothing to do with the fact that he misses home.

_I could drop by, just for a few minutes_, he realises, wondering why he didn’t bother to try all day. _It’s not far, after all._

“I could never stand it,” Alphard muses, watching one of the band’s hangers-on loading their equipment onto the stage. The audience is probably cheering, but all extraneous sound is blocked in this area. “Never had time for any of the politics. Antares,” – Sirius’ father – “loved it, though. You and Regulus probably get it from him. I don’t know how Cassie’s managing without him – he was the one that could read between the lines. Good at identifying patterns. He was certainly named to rule, even if he wasn’t born for it.”

“Royal star?” he asks, recalling what he learned when he was younger about the four Royal stars – one for each point of the compass. He wonders what his father would think if he could see him now.

_I can still fix things with Mother, though. All I have to do is go back home. It’s probably only a half hour walk from here._

“Exactly. Cassie named you, but it was Antares that suggested your brother’s name. She never would have agreed to it if it hadn’t been a few generations since the Blacks’d had a Regulus. Our father was Aldeberan, and the only Royal star left would have been Fomalhaut. Can’t see it catching on. I mean, it’s a Royal star granted, but it doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.”

“Not in the same way Alphard rolls off the tongue, anyway,” Marius says, joining them again.

“Not in front of my nephew, if you please,” Alphard says, giving Marius a mock glare.

“Sorry, Sirius,” Marius grins, although he sounds genuinely apologetic.

“You haven’t seen Remus about anywhere, have you?”

“I wasn’t looking for him,” Marius begins, by way of explanation, adding, “but I’m sure he’s somewhere about.” It’s obvious he isn’t going to get a chance to see Remus until Alphard is done with him. Marius inspects one of the drinks on the table and picks it up. “So,” he says, visibly casting about for something to say, “what subjects are you taking?”

“The same subjects I was taking the last time you asked me that question,” he answers politely, trying not to smile at the way Alphard rolls his eyes.

“Of all the bloody boring topics of conversation you could choose to inflict on him Marius, _honestly._”

“I thought I’d play it safe,” Marius says. “Especially after you vetoed my earlier line of inquiry. What’s the other good one with school-aged kids… Ah, right. What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“An Auror,” he says, remembering how Alphard steered the conversation away from that topic earlier.

“Really?” Marius says, in the same startled tone and with the same considering frown. “You’ll have a time of it, being an Auror and keeping that boyfriend of yours. Have you discussed it with him?”

For a moment, his heart stops beating. _They can’t know about Remus. They can’t know what he is. Can they?_

“What do you mean?” he asks, determined not to give anything away.

“Why haven’t you told him that you can’t be homosexual and an Auror?” Marius asks.

If he thought he felt sick before, it is a hundred, thousand times worse now.

“Because it isn’t technically true,” Alphard replies. Marius snorts. “It _isn’t_ true,” he insists. “One of the top Aurors – naming no names, but I’ll give you a clue and it starts with Martin and ends with Taylor – is heavily involved with a Veela. You can’t allow people to…allow them to…” Alphard glances over at Sirius, hesitatingly.

“_…fuck_,” Marius provides for him.

“ – thank you – Veelas, who are sub-human, and then get all worked up if they want to…you know…someone of the same gender as themselves.”

“Yes, all right, so they can’t turn Sirius down for being homosexual, but they’ll find something else.”

“Why do they need to know I’m homosexual? I don’t even know for certain. Why can’t I just say it’s none of their business?”

Alphard and Marius exchange strained looks. “They’ll make it their business, pup,” Alphard says gently. “It’s a closed club and they make the rules. They’ll want to know everything about you before they even consider letting you sit the entrance exam.”

“And your marks on the entrance exam will depend on what they know about you,” Marius adds cynically.

“There’s nothing for them to find out. The only ones that know are the two of you. And Remus, of course.”

Alphard gives Marius another careful look. Marius takes a sip of his drink, and holds it at eye level, squinting at it. “This is the wrong drink,” he says. “I’ll be back in a minute.” So saying, he takes the drink with him and strides off in the direction of the bar.

_You really expect me to believe that the barman working at his very own club got his drink wrong?_

“Oh be quiet,” Alphard says, as if he’s read Sirius’ mind. “At least he tried to be subtle about it.”

“_You_ be quiet. At least I didn’t say what I was thinking aloud.”

“What’s this about you not being sure if you’re homosexual? Have you not told your friends? Is everything all right between you and Remus?”

“Everything’s fine,” he says, adding ‘now, anyway’ mentally. “We just haven’t… How do you know whether you are or not until you’ve had sex?”

“Well you…” Alphard pauses, as though searching for the right words. “All right, it’s not as simple as all that, but I’ll concede your point,” Alphard says. “I will say that sometimes you can’t be certain even after you’ve had sex.”

_Oh **good.**_

“What about…” He can’t imagine what this conversation would have been like if his father were still alive, let alone get the words out to his father’s older brother, but he manages to dredge up the words he needs eventually. “Would you sleep with someone if you didn’t love them? Or if you didn’t know for certain if they loved you?”

“I’ve two daughters because I let myself sleep with someone I didn’t love. I don’t regret either of them, but I regret my marriage more than anything. Would I do it _again_? No, because that would mean sleeping with someone who wasn’t Marius,” Alphard says, smiling. “That doesn’t help you though, does it?” He has to look away, because it seems as though he’ll never get the answer he wants. “What’s really bothering you, Puppy?”

“How do you know if it’s love you’re feeling, or if you’re just…if you just want sex? And I know it’s possible to be both, but…”

Alphard’s eyes are open wide in shock. “I - ”

“Forget I asked,” he says quickly, not sure he wants to hear it. “I don’t think I want to know. I know you don’t want to discuss it.”

Alphard is starting to look as if he’s regretting ever inviting him to London. “If you’re having doubts about Remus…”

“It’s been three months! If he loves me, wouldn’t he have said by now?”

“I can’t know whether or not he loves you, Puppy. He might not even know himself. But I do know he cares about you. He’s been planning tonight for nearly two weeks, now. Or at last two weeks ago was when I first heard from him, asking for help in getting you out of Hogsmeade, and wanting to know if it would be all right to bring you here. He even came to see me last weekend, and the whole time he was here, he talked about nothing but you.”

_Two weeks ago?_ That would have been before the night they spent in the Prefect’s bathroom. Remus would have planned tonight before Sirius told him this was what he wanted. _So it’s not been done just to get into your pants. Or if it is, he knows you better than you think he does_. That, just by itself, makes him feel better.

“You’re right,” he says absently, glancing around the dance floor for Remus. _Where **is** he? He should be able to see me up here with no trouble from anywhere on the floor._ “_You_ don’t mind my wanting to be an Auror, do you?”

“I’ll support you no matter what you choose to do, Sirius,” his uncle says, smiling warmly. “Even if Cassie cuts you off completely.” Taking another sip of his drink, Alphard says thoughtfully, “It might not have been her intention, but she named you for the right star, after all. Regulus for law-giving and order. Sirius for freedom and independence.”

“I’ve never heard of that,” he says, trying to think back to everything he was taught about the stars and their stories.

That was where their pet names came from, after all. Mother was the Queen, he was Puppy, Regulus was Baby cat or Little king, Andromeda was Princess, and Bellatrix was Conqueror, although Andromeda always called her the Bully. _I should have realised sooner what it meant that Narcissa didn’t have a pet name._

“You’re not being fair, Black. That’s a Muggle belief,” Marius says as he reappears.

“I thought you went to get your drink sorted?” Alphard says, looking pointedly at his empty hands.

Marius ignores him, stealing Alphard’s glass and taking a sip, asking, “What are the two of you talking about now?”

“Sirius’ ignorance when it comes to the mythology surrounding his own name. You do understand,” Alphard says, turning back to him and deliberately over-enunciating his words, “that you’re named after the star, not the other way around?”

“I know _most_ of the mythology about the star Sirius,” he says huffily. “About your star, too. _Hydra_. Cut off one head, and three would grow in its place. Although, that’s never made much sense. It’s always depicted with three heads – if someone had tried cutting one off, it’d have more than three, wouldn’t it? In which case, how could they possibly know?”

Alphard is refusing to make eye contact with him, but he hears the word ‘nine’ pass his uncle’s lips.

“I’ve never seen a picture depicting the Hydra with nine heads,” Marius says, smiling slightly. Alphard is refusing to look at either of them, and… _He can’t be blushing, can he_? “Forget about heads. What’s always interested me is whether or not – if you were ever to let me cut it off – you’d grow three - ”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence in front of my - ”

“You don’t even know what I - ”

“You want to bet your half of the club that I don’t? After forty years of you making that pathetic joke every time we discuss the Hydra? You think I don’t know _exactly_ what you’re thinking?” He can’t help but laugh and Alphard looks away from Marius to glare at him. “And _you_ are certainly not old enough to find that amusing!”

Marius calmly puts the glass back on the table, and reaches over to lift Alphard’s face with one hand. “If you know me so well,” Marius says, “then you’ll know what I’m thinking right now.”

For a moment, Alphard stares back at him, neither of them saying a word. The next, they’ve Apparated away together.

“I expect that’s the last we’ll see of them tonight.” Turning to the shadows he sees the serving boy has reappeared, and is addressing him. “My name’s Spencer,” Spencer says. He isn’t sure whether that’s a first name, or a House name. He’s fairly sure the other boy’s Muggleborn. “You can let me know if you need anything.”

“No, I don’t need anything. Thank you,” he adds, unsure of how to treat a human servant, even if he _is_ Muggleborn.

“I think they’ve turned in for the night,” Spencer says, referring to his uncle and Marius, “so you’re likely to be on your own up here. Would you like to join my friends and I?”

“I’m actually waiting to meet someone,” he replies politely, telling himself not to run to the edge of the restricted section and peer over the railing like a small child. _He should be able to see me up here. Why won’t he join me?_

“I see,” Spencer says, sounding doubtful. “Are the wards keyed to include him?”

“Pardon?”

“This area is warded. Mr Black or Mr Girard usually adjust them if they’re expecting guests. I don’t recall either of them making any today.”

He’s fairly certain that his uncle either hasn’t bothered, or has forgotten. _He didn’t alter the entry wards to allow me in, after all. _It might also explain why Remus hasn’t been able to find him.

“I’m not sure,” he says slowly. “I expected him over an hour ago – it would be nice to think this is why he hasn’t turned up yet.” He gives Spencer a smile, which the other boy returns – far less shyly this time.

“Come and sit with us,” Spencer offers again, placing a hand on his shoulder and drawing him along. He moves slightly, putting himself out of the other boy’s reach.

“Will your friends mind?” he asks, following Spencer down the steps and into the club proper. He can pinpoint the exact second they step over the ward because that is when the surging noise of the Club crashes down around him

“You must be joking,” Spencer shouts, laughing. “The owner’s nephew, at their table? They’ll be talking about it for months. I should be asking you if you’d mind joining us. You’ll be propositioned left, right and centre.” Spencer doesn’t seem particularly alarmed at the prospect. “You’ll need to tell me your name, though, so I can introduce you properly.”

“Siro Noir,” he shouts back, using the name his uncle ‘Alfred Noir’ suggested. It was supposed to be close enough to his own name that he would remember to answer to it. Marius thought it was stupid to give him an Italian name when he was ‘paler and more uptight than anyone who lives on the Mediterranean has any right to be’. “Have you worked here long?” he asks, still having to raise his voice to hear himself. He’s found it useful to feign interest in other people when he’s reluctant to answer questions about himself.

“About four years,” Spencer replies. Four years would make him at least twenty-one. “Mr Girard noticed I spent so much time here, I might as well get paid for it. It’s not so bad, waiting on the two of them. Of course, most nights they hang around for longer than this.”

“Do you have to work every weekend?”

“I try to – pay’s better on the weekend. Still, I don’t expect you’d know much about that.”

“Pardon?” he asks, trying to keep from being hit by the dancers around them as they cross the dance floor.

“Earning money,” Spencer says, but it’s said kindly. “Must be nice being able to sit around waiting to inherit your lot in life.”

“I’ve never known anything different,” he says tightly, trying not to let his anger show.

“No, I suppose not,” Spencer says, leading them towards a set of sofas on the other side of the dance floor, arranged in a circle around a low table. “This is Siro,” Spencer continues casually, indicating Sirius. “Siro, these are Paula,” Spencer says, pointing to a tall, slender girl with long, light hair, “Benny,” indicating a dark haired boy who’s lounging on one of the sofas with his head in Paula’s lap, “and Marcus.” This last is said in reference to a boy who places a hand behind Spencer’s neck and kisses him quickly on the lips.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” he says politely.

“Are you Alfie’s son?” Paula asks shrewdly, presumably in reference to Alphard. “You look a bit like him.”

“Alfie’s _queer_, you thick twat,” Marcus says fondly, at the same time gesturing for Sirius to sit.

“I’m his nephew actually,” he replies, letting himself fall onto one of the sofas.

Just as he is about to direct the topic of conversation away from himself, Spencer does it for him, asking, “Is John about tonight?”

“Saw him get here about an hour ago. He’s stopped by once or twice. Said he’s expecting to meet his boyfriend here tonight, but the inconsiderate arse seems to be running late,” Benny tells him.

“_I_ wouldn’t keep John waiting,” Paula declares. “He’s _yummy_.”

“Hey!” Benny says, twisting out of Paula’s lap to glare at her. “Keep talking like that, and you can try to get _him_ to take you home tonight instead of coming back with me.”

He has a horrible, horrible feeling that he knows who John might be.

“He won’t stay away long, Spence,” Marcus says, sitting on one of the sofas, and pulling Spencer down with him. “Looks like his latest pet isn’t the punctual sort.”

He has a horrible feeling that he knows who John’s ‘latest pet’ is, too.

“When he comes back, though… He’ll probably perk up if you hang about,” Paula tells Sirius.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re asking Siro to stay for _John’s_ benefit,” Benny says, more to demonstrate that he’s onto Paula than out of genuine jealousy or annoyance.

“Goes for the dark-haired, pale sort,” Paula forges on, ignoring Benny. “You look almost exactly his type.”

_Yes, I imagine I would_, he thinks, wondering where Remus has got to and what he’ll do if Remus turns up at the sofas to collect him.

Benny laughs with her, and adds, “She’s right, you know. Stick around for a bit, if you like. He’ll chuck his latest little lad for you in a second.”

He must look horrified, because Marcus says, “It won’t be your fault if he does – I don’t think he’d have lasted long with the other bloke anyway.”

“Is it not serious, then?” he asks, trying to sound as though he’s genuinely considering Marcus’s suggestion, and not as though someone’s smacked a bludger at his stomach.

“Never has been yet,” Spencer says cheerfully, shrugging off Marcus’ arm. “But you’ve one of your own, haven’t you? Where’s he got to?”

_Fuck_.

Spencer knows he has a boyfriend he’s waiting for, but he can’t _now_ say that his boyfriend is John. _Especially since you don’t know for certain that John’s Remus. _

“I should probably look for him,” he says, smiling politely. His face is starting to ache from maintaining that smile.

“You could forget about him,” Spencer offers, sliding away from Marcus to move closer to Sirius. “He never should have let you out of his sight. Stay here with us, for a bit.”

He tells himself that he’s not standing to leave because Spencer is frightening him. “I really should go and look for him,” he insists.

“Would you like me to help - ”

“Oh, leave Siro alone Spence,” Benny says exasperatedly, lifting his head out of Paula’s lap. She frowns down at him and pushes him firmly back down. “If he wants to look for his boyfriend, let him.”

None of them have made the connection that the boyfriend he’s waiting for is this so-called John who’s also been stood up by his boyfriend. _He might treat everyone else like that_, he thinks, recalling Marcus advice that Remus’ would probably ditch Sirius in favour of…well, Sirius…_but he wouldn’t do that to me_. If only the words didn’t sound so pathetically hopeful. After all, why _wouldn’t_ Remus do this to him?

_What makes **you** so special, more so than everyone else who happens to be his type?_

“Pity,” Marcus says. “John’ll be back shortly.” Marcus glances over Spencer who still hasn’t taken his eyes off Sirius. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

Benny adds, “He’s a lovely lay,” as Paula nods in agreement. His blood runs cold as he tries not to think about how _both_ of them can be so certain. _Perhaps it isn’t Remus_. “Still, it might not be so easy. Everything he’s said about his latest indicates that he’s pretty serious about this one.”

And at those words, he wants it desperately to be Remus, wants it to be true that Remus is serious about _him_ when he hasn’t been about any of the others.

“He always _says_ that, you mean,” Marcus says, shifting closer to Spencer and pressing their bodies together. Spencer gives his hand an absent-minded pat. He kicks down a surge of hatred for Marcus. _What do you mean ‘he always **says** that’? What the fuck would you know?_

“You’re just miffed because he said it about you before he changed his mind,” Paula sniffs. “He _means_ it this time,” she adds, casting her eye over Sirius again, as though appraising his chances of taking John away from his boyfriend. He wants to laugh, because this is all so _stupid_.

_All right, so he’s slept with all of them… But he’s not sitting here with them, is he? He’s out in the club looking for me…_

“Has anyone told Miranda he’s got this new boyfriend?”

_…or he’s got his tongue down Miranda’s throat. Whoever **she** is._

“Has anyone _met_ his new boyfriend?” Benny asks.

“No, you idiot, he was going to introduce him to us tonight,” Marcus says.

“Must be something special if John’s spent an hour crawling about the club looking for him.” That sentiment makes him feel slightly better. “Perhaps you should get out there and do the same, Siro. You’re not likely to find _your_ boyfriend sitting with us,” Spencer adds, levering himself out of the sofa. “We can keep an eye out for him if you want.”

“Thank you,” he says, trying to get the words out smoothly. “If I can’t find him, I’ll definitely come back here,” he promises. Remus will probably end up here eventually.

“Do that,” Benny says. Paula blows him a kiss her boyfriend doesn’t see.

“Yes, all right,” he says uncertainly, heading back out onto the dance floor, trying not to look lost.

There are too many people and too much noise, and he can feel himself starting to panic. _I want to go home_, he thinks with certainty. Mother might have expectations of him he’s unwilling to meet, but at least he knows what they are. Here, he’s totally out of his depth.

_Does he love me? How would I know for certain?_ It was a horrible shock, meeting all the rest of Remus’ friends. Perhaps ‘friends’ is the wrong word… _Do they all have to be so bloody good looking?_

Particularly Spencer…Spencer’s almost as gorgeous as Remus himself. The way they were looking at him suggested that Paula and Benny weren’t as paired up as they appeared. And Spencer… _He wasn’t trying it on, was he_? Not only have they all probably slept with Remus, they all discuss it so _openly_, as if there’s nothing to be ashamed of. _Perhaps there isn’t. Perhaps **I’m** the one who isn’t right. And who the fuck is Miranda?_

But conflicting with all of that is the fact that Remus made a promise to him on New Years’s Eve, that as long as he was with Sirius, he would _only_ be with Sirius. _And he planned all of this. For me. If I could just find him again…_

The club lights flicker and shift in time to the music, and he can feel the beat of the double-bass vibrating through his body via his boots. It’s impossible to identify Remus by scanning the crowd for his boyfriend’s dark-blond, shoulder-length hair, or the blue shirt Remus was wearing. Under the lights, Remus’ hair will probably be purple or his shirt green.

However the alternative – of peering closely at individual faces to see whether they match his Remus’ – isn’t much better. Boys at the club have an alarming tendency of smiling and walking towards him if he stares too long. Fed up, he decides to make his way back to Spencer and his friends – perhaps ‘John’ will drop by again.

“Look who’s back!” Paula says delightedly, as he returns. There’s no sign of Benny, but there’s a new girl seated next to Paula who gives him an annoyed look as he approaches, as though it is _his_ fault that Paula isn’t paying her any attention. It seems Paula was almost finished with her anyway, because he hears her say, “So you’re not staying much longer, then?” as she turns back to the Angry Girl.

“Couldn’t see the point,” the Angry Girl says angrily, flicking her long, dark hair over her shoulders. It looks like a practised movement. “He told me he’d come here with someone and he wasn’t going home with anyone but him,” she says, pulling a face as if to say she can’t believe how stupid boys can be.

“Told you it was serious,” Marcus says. He wonders if they’re talking about John again, and whether or not this is the unfortunate Miranda. _Where is he now_, he wants to ask her, but they haven’t been introduced, and he doesn’t want her to know he was listening.

“No luck finding him, eh?” Benny commiserates, as he rejoins them.

“I’m afraid not,” he replies, feeling his facial muscles cramp into a polite smile once again.

Should he sit down with them again? There is no sign of Remus, and there’s only so long he can avoid answering questions about himself. _What am I supposed to talk to them about?_ He’s not even sure if they’re all Wizarding. _Then again, if I don’t sit with them, what would I do instead_? Alphard and Marius have retired for the night, he can’t find Remus anywhere…

_Perhaps I should leave and visit home_, he thinks, watching as Paula gives the Angry Girl a farewell hug and the latter storms off across the dance floor.

_There’s no reason for me to hang about here. I could get the Knight Bus to Grimmauld Place, and just talk to Mother._

He misses her, he realises, as a strong surge of homesickness washes over him. The sensible part of him tells him that he’s homesick for a time, rather than for a place. _I want Regulus to be all right again. I want Father back. I don’t want Mother to be so horribly Aged. I don’t want to have fought with her. _

The decision about whether to join Spencer and his friends or not is taken out of his hands when a _very_ familiar someone takes his seat without seeing him. The relief that surges through him, on seeing that Remus hasn’t given up and gone home, hasn’t hooked up with someone else, and isn’t even sitting next to any of the others is almost a physical sensation.

“You just missed Miranda,” Paula says, sounding slightly annoyed with Remus, as Benny takes his place next to her once again.

“Miranda’s problem is that I don’t miss her nearly enough,” Remus replies mildly, and Paula smiles a little, as though she is amused but not prepared to show it.

“That was my seat,” he tells Remus softly, watching the other boy turn around with open surprise on his face. “We’ve not been properly introduced,” he says quickly, as Remus opens his mouth. “You must be _John_.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Remus says, his surprise disguised with a quick smile.

Marcus laughs and tells him, “No need to come over all coy, we’ve already told him all about you.”

“You could always sit here,” Spencer says, indicating his lap as Marcus frowns.

“I think I’d rather sit here, actually,” he insists, as he enters the circle of sofas to stand in front of Remus.

“Presumptuous, aren’t you?” Remus says, his smile showing teeth. “I’ve a boyfriend who’d be _most_ upset if he knew - ”

_No, don’t make fun of me. Not now. Not after I’ve been so brazen_. He has to push all of his nervousness aside to deliver his next words with the confidence they require. “Oh yes? So we have something in common, then.”

Remus’ smile softens, and he wonders for a moment how he could possibly have thought that Spencer was anything near as beautiful as his Remus. The white light reflected in Remus’ eyes is like glittering diamonds of sunlight on a summer sea.

“I might agree,” Remus says, warm and teasing, “if you tell me your name.”

“And if you don’t,” Marcus says before he can reply, “_I’ll_ sit in his lap and you can have my seat.”

Spencer may not have noticed Marcus’ remark, but Remus most certainly has. Frowning slightly, Remus takes his hand and pulls him closer. He’s aware of how this must look to the others – abandoning his supposed boyfriend to plonk himself down into ‘John’s’ lap instead. But he doesn’t want Marcus making good on his threat and anyway, he and Remus know the truth and that’s all that matters.

Paula gives Remus an amused look as Sirius slips onto his lap, one that seems to say, ‘so much for your going home with the same person you came here with’. But again, he simply isn’t interested in what she or the rest of them think, as he tells his boyfriend to call him ‘Siro’ and wriggles about in Remus’ lap until he’s comfortable.

“You had me so worried, Padfoot,” Remus whispers as Sirius settles into him, glad of the safe, familiar sensation that being with Remus always brings.

_I have you again_, he thinks, his heart pounding in relief. It’s only being in the club for the first time in ages that he realises how easily he could lose Remus, how easily his boyfriend could decide simply to go home with one of the others. _But you didn’t. You stayed._

“I’ll explain later,” he promises, whispering back and turning so he doesn’t have his back to the rest of them.

“We were just about to go onto the dance floor,” Paula says, clearly not trusting herself to keep her temper around Remus. Standing, she dislodges Benny and prods him upright. “Did you want to come with us?”

“No, I’m quite happy where I am,” he replies with a smile, trying not to jump as Remus pinches him.

Benny laughs as he takes Paula’s hand. “Can’t say I blame you,” he says to Sirius. “I’ve never seen him,” referring to Remus, “move that quickly before.”

_That’s because he was mine before we walked in here_, he thinks slightly smugly. _And he’s going to be mine when we walk out of here, too._

“I was remarkably restrained,” Remus says mildly. “It’s not as if I went and did this,” he adds, placing his lips on Sirius’ neck and sucking gently. He reaches for Remus’ hand and holds it tight as he closes his eyes and leans back.

“Well, don’t get too carried away,” Marcus says. It sounds as though he and Spencer are standing as well. “You’re on seat-minding duty until we get back.”

Remus twists him about on his lap so they can kiss properly, for the first time that day. He’s having trouble getting used to the idea that they can spend hours together on end, but can’t do so much as hold hands with one another without arousing suspicion.

“What happened to you?” Remus asks, once the others are gone. “I came over here to tell them they’d finally meet the boy I’ve been wittering on about for the past month, and then I’ve not been able to find you or Alphard all night.”

“I was talking with Alphard, up there,” he says, pointing before he realises that Remus won’t be able to see it. “The wards weren’t set to let you in or to let you see me. It’s up high,” he says, glancing back to it again, “so I thought you’d be able to see me, and would come up to join us. I was wondering why you didn’t. Spencer was the one that told me, brought me down here to meet the rest of your friends.”

“This hasn’t gone the way I planned,” Remus sighs, turning to lie back on the sofa and pulling Sirius to lie on top of him. He spends some time kissing Remus properly. The other boy should know that whether or not things have gone as planned _he_ has no complaints.

“I think it’s gone all right,” he says, determined not to let a minor hiccough ruin their evening. It clearly won’t be as simple as all that, because Remus actually _dodges_ his mouth when he tries to kiss him again. “What’s wrong?” he asks, trying not to panic.

“Everything they said about me,” Remus says, reaching out to hold onto Sirius’ hips, his fingers digging into him. “It’s true, all of it.”

“I don’t _care_,” he says, bouncing on Remus sharply and making the other boy yelp. “Shut up and listen,” he says, watching Remus frown. “You’ve already broken up with me twice,” he says softly, feeling something inside him tighten as he says it. _Please don’t do it again, not now when I’ve no idea how to stop being in love with you if you were to end it_. “So I don’t think you’ve gone behind my back. Have you?”

He can only ask in this way, pretending that he’s not expecting any answer other than ‘no’, even though his heart is in his mouth as he waits for Remus’ response.

“No, Padfoot, I prom-”

“You’ve already promised,” he says, stopping Remus with a kiss. “Once is enough.” He doesn’t say the words _I believe you_, but Remus must know he’s thinking them because the other boy moves one of his hands from Sirius’ hip to his hand, linking their fingers.

Pulling Sirius down to lie precariously on top of him, Remus says, “Spent weeks writing to your uncle to plan this. I wanted you to meet the rest of them. To let them see that I’m not interested in any of them anymore _because_ I have you.”

“You really mean that?” he asks, hardly daring to believe it. He’s never lacked confidence in himself so much as tonight, not having the faintest idea how to talk to Remus’ other friends or what to talk to them about. _Are you sure you want me tagging after you somewhere like this?_

“Of course I mean that, Padfoot. You’re worth a thousand of them put together. Just you, by yourself,” Remus says, his eyes closing contentedly as Sirius shifts his balance on him. “Now they’ll never believe me when I tell them I’ve settled down, and that there’s only one boy for me.”

“I don’t care what they think. _I_ believe you,” he says, lowering himself onto Remus.

“_I_ care what they think,” Remus snaps back, sounding upset.

He pulls away, slightly startled. If something is bothering Remus – and something clearly is – then he has to take steps to head it off before Remus’ irritation can take its usual path to the conclusion that breaking up with Sirius will be best for both of them.

_I want you to be in love with me_, he thinks, watching in despair as Remus’ frown deepens. _And if you’re not already, then I’ll have to work harder to make sure you are. You’re not going to break up with me out of bad temperedness **this** full moon._

“I wanted to show them I was crazy about you,” Remus says softly, as they lift themselves from the sofa and stand, watching the dance floor.

“Well, you still can,” he concedes. “If you want to, we can stay here until they get back and you can do exactly that.”

“Or?”

“_Or_,” he says, forcing himself to sound more confident than he feels, “I could take us back to the restricted section. Alphard and Marius are in for the night, so we’ll have it to ourselves.” Remus looks around sharply at that, a smile starting to form on his lips. “That way, you’ll at least be able to show _me_ how crazy you are about me.”


	15. March 1977 (Remus)

He rests his palm against Sirius’ cheek, idly stroking an eyebrow as black and perfectly formed as a calligraphic brushstroke with his thumb.

There is clattering on the stage as the band sorts itself out, just as Marius walks up the steps onto the dais. “Hello Remus,” he calls.

“Hello,” he says, smiling politely in return.

“I have to arrange the band’s payment, but once that’s done I’ll see the two of you back to school. Can you wait? It shouldn’t be more than another twenty minutes.”

“Of course,” he replies. “We’ll wait until you’re ready – don’t rush on our account.” Sirius, asleep with his head in Remus’ lap gives a drowsy murmur at that. “Hey, Padfoot,” he says softly, moving his hand up into Sirius’ hair and brushing his fingers through it.

Sirius nuzzles into his thigh, sending sparks shooting through his spine. “M’_tired_, Moony… L’m’sleep.” He smiles contentedly, playing with Sirius’ dark fringe.

Tonight…tonight was more than he ever dared hope for the two of them.

He probably should have told Sirius his friends here knew him as John, but in all honesty he was in the club barely five minutes before he saw Alphard whisking Sirius away somewhere, and he couldn’t find his boyfriend for the next hour and a half no matter where he looked.

And he looked _everywhere_.

As though his panic at losing Sirius wasn’t bad enough, there was the additional indignity of finding out that Sirius spoke to nearly everyone he has ever slept with, and was appraised in no uncertain terms of his total indifference on the subject of who it was he was sleeping with at any given time.

Yet at the end of it all, Sirius _believed_ him, needed nothing more than for Remus to speak the words to know that he wasn’t going behind the other boy’s back. _I’m not. I haven’t. The last two times I was with Miranda were after I broke up with you. I haven’t broken any of my promises to you._

More than that, Sirius took him aside, up the stairs to the restricted section where they could be private, and away from the rest of them. It was when Sirius turned and kissed him, drawing him down into one of the three booths on the dais that he decided he didn’t care what the rest of them thought, that even though part of the reason he brought Sirius here tonight was to show him off, that none of that _mattered_ because Sirius Black believed him, didn’t care about what the others told him, and still wanted to be with him.

He glances around as he is assaulted by sound, and Sirius murmurs irritably in his lap. The wards around the restricted section must be disabled now because he can hear the surrounding noise of people leaving as the band members gather around Marius. The house lights come up, and he can hear soft cries as people shield their eyes and adjust to the bright white.

Racing up the stairs to the restricted section, he and Sirius both came in their clothing almost as soon as they were able to lock lips. He knew he wouldn’t be able to undress Sirius as slowly as he wanted to unless he took the edge off first. Sirius was annoyed that Remus made him dirty his brand new clothes, but when he stripped the offending garments away and cast _scourgify_ on them, the other boy seemed to calm down somewhat.

And when he bent his head over Sirius’ softening cock, as he lifted Sirius’ genitals to his mouth in one hand, he realised that he was probably the only person in the world who knew the weight of Sirius, just like this, soft and wet in his palm. _No one_ else ever got this close to Sirius, and that was because no one else was ever _allowed_ to get this close to Sirius.

_Just me_, he thought, thrilling at the pleasure it gave him, knowing that he was the first and the only one. _This is what you want from me, isn’t it_? And something that had been a chore, a restriction, something he had to work around, all started to make sense. _If this is what it feels like, knowing that you’re the only one, no wonder you asked me to promise you the same in return._

Right at that moment, with Sirius prick and balls in his hand, with Sirius’ hands in his hair, with his lips a breath away from kissing his boyfriend clean, he realised that he wouldn’t be able to stand it if anybody else touched Sirius like this. It wasn’t just a question of monopolising Sirius’ time, anymore. It was now a question of monopolising _Sirius_ – not just for right now, but forever. As he lowered his head and applied himself to licking Sirius clean, he realised what a massive gamble bringing Sirius here tonight was.

_You’d have every right to leave me_, he thinks, watching Sirius screw his eyes shut tight as the house lights come up. _Any one of the others could snap you up_, he thinks, brushing Sirius’ hair out his eyes. Sirius looks sweet with his hair cropped short like this, but still with enough of a fringe to obscure his gorgeous grey eyes. _**I** saw the way they were looking at you even if you didn’t._

He’s determined that they will make it through the next full moon together, unscathed. _I won’t give you up. I’ve worked so hard for you, I’m not prepared to lose you to anybody. You’re **mine**, Black._

“Moony,” Sirius murmurs softly, still with his eyes closed.

“Yeah?”

“D’you think we could go home before?”

“Before what?”

“Before we go back to Hogwarts.”

He’s not sure what to say to that. “Do you mean _your_ home, in London? Or your uncle’s flat?”

“_Home_, Moony. Just to see Mother. For a bit. Doesn’t have to be for long.”

This isn’t the first time today that Sirius has brought up this request. _Is he homesick_? Or perhaps Sirius is upset that his mum never sent the crate of presents, sweets and party favours she used to send every year for his birthday.

“Perhaps next time,” he hedges, hoping Sirius will go back to sleep and forget about it. Glancing over to the stage, he sees that Marius is involved in some sort of arm waving negotiation with the band members. Sirius gives another sleepy murmur in his lap.

“So where’s this new boyfriend they’re all talking about?”

He looks over the edge of the dais to see Miranda standing on the dance floor, glaring up at him. He doesn’t mean to give away Sirius’ location, but he glances down at his lap unthinkingly, and Miranda smirks back at him. Given the height of the dais, and the black metal barriers around the edge, she won’t be able to see that Sirius is _asleep_ in his lap, and she probably suspects something else.

“What a well trained pet he is,” she sings. “I can see why you’d want to go home with him, even though you came here with someone else. You don’t think it’ll really last, do you?”

“Can we discuss this some other time?” he asks, trying not to snap.

“Oh certainly, I can wait till after you’re done. Which from memory shouldn’t take long.” She glances at her watch. “I’m amazed you’ve lasted this long as it is – he can’t be doing it right,” she says, making to climb up the stairs, perhaps even preparing to give Sirius tips.

“No. Fuck off,” he hisses, not wanting to wake Sirius.

His hands clench protectively around Sirius, whose eyes snap open at the pressure. “Moony, what…”

“Stay here Padfoot, all right? I’ll be back in a minute.”

He makes it to the top of the steps before Miranda can get all the way up, determined not to let her near Sirius.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, _John_,” she snarls, as he forces her back down the steps and onto the dance floor. She’s one of the few people he’s confided his Wizarding name to. “I don’t care who you’re sleeping with. I just want to know what’s so special about him that you’ve decided you don’t need me anymore.”

“And _I_ said we’d discuss it some other time.”

“Some other time,” she says, her lips twisting around the words. “Some other time meaning the next time it’s ‘that time of the month’ and you drop by because you can?”

“Remus,” Marius calls from behind. “Are the two of you ready to go yet?” He turns to see Marius standing at the base of the stairs with Sirius by his side.

“That’s the owner’s boyfriend!” she says, surprised. “They weren’t joking when they said your latest pet was his nephew, were they? I thought he already had a boyfriend.”

“He’s got a different one now,” he says, far past the point of caring about what she might think of either him _or_ Sirius.

“Well, I suppose that answers all of my questions. From everything I’ve heard, the two of you deserve each other.” With a final glare in Sirius’ direction, she stalks off.

“ – straight back to the school,” Marius is saying as he gets back. “You can visit your mother during the holidays, there’s only a month to go.”

“No, I can’t, I’m busy during the Easter holidays,” Sirius says plaintively. “I’ve Quidditch.” He smiles to himself. Sirius is so used to having Quidditch training taking up his free hours that the excuse is probably a reflex by now.

“Shall we go?” he asks, on rejoining them.

“Soon enough,” Marius replies. “The two of you should get changed first, don’t you think?”

“It’s all right, we can just put our robes on over this,” he says, draping Sirius’ school robe over the other boy’s head and reaching for his own.

“We’ll be cutting it pretty fine, getting you both back before eleven,” Marius says. “Shame you won’t be able to stay for the second set.”

He decides it’s probably best not to inform Marius that eleven is when they’re supposed to be in bed with the lights out. Eight o’clock is when they’re confined to the dormitory or the House Common Room, and none of the students are allowed out of the Castle after five o’clock.

“Will Mr Black be joining us?”

“Alphard? You must be joking. Alphard sleeps like the dead.” Marius gives Sirius a fond smile as the latter tries to stay upright. “Come on, Puppy. Another fifteen minutes and we’ll have you in your bed.”

“_You_ can’t call me that,” Sirius says, clinging tiredly to Remus. “Only my family can - ”

“I bet your Aunt Elladora calls you Puppy.”

“You’re not my Aunt,” Sirius insists, but he’s having trouble keeping his eyes open. Marius just manages to catch him as he falls forward.

“I’ll Apparate him,” Marius tells him. “Meet us outside the main gate to Hogwarts.”

Arriving with a soft bump, he can see Marius setting Sirius on his feet a little way along. “Thank you for everything,” he says, shaking Marius’ hand as he feels Sirius lean on him.

“You have enough time to get back?”

“Plenty,” he replies, itching to check his watch.

“It was good to see the pair of you,” Marius says.

Sirius’ usual manners appear to have deserted him, and Remus takes up the conversation. “Yes, same here,” he says smoothly.

“So when will we see you again? The Easter holidays?”

“No, we’ve plans for those,” he says, thinking as he says it that Sirius hasn’t actually confirmed that he’ll come back to Remus’ mum’s place over the Easter Break.

“The summer holiday then,” Marius says, not at all put off. “Alphard and I plan to be in France for Bastille Day. I’m sure he’d love for both of you to come along. Ever been?”

“Um…I was born in Normandy,” he says, about to add that he’s not been back for _years_, but Marius nods, as though that settles that matter.

“Good. We’ll arrange the particulars by owl. Well, stay in touch and let us know if you want to come and stay again, or if there’s another Hogsmeade weekend you’d like to spend in London.”

“We shall,” he says, shifting his arm so that Sirius doesn’t fall over. “Can you pass on our thanks to Mr Black?”

Marius nods that he will, and then Apparates away. Once he’s gone, Remus checks his watch – there are still twenty minutes to spare.

“Come on Black,” he says, watching Sirius sleepily rub his face. “Make yourself useful and pick up the bags.”

“Why do _I_ have to carry everything?” Sirius says sulkily, snatching at the bags. _God, he’s beautiful no mater what he does._ “What are _you_ going to be carrying?”

“I’m going to be carrying you,” he says, bracing himself to lift Sirius, as well as all of the bags. “You just have to hold onto them, all right? I’ve only got two hands.” _And even if I had twenty, I’d want to use all twenty of them to touch your arse._

Sirius is resting his head against his neck, his legs wrapped around Remus’ waist and his arms over Remus’ shoulders, holding the bags. Both of his hands are holding onto Sirius’ bottom, keeping him from slipping.

Getting into Castle without incident, he lowers Sirius to the ground before they reach the Portrait into Gryffindor Tower, and gives the Fat Lady the password. “Come on, Padfoot,” he says softly.

“It’s about bloody time, you two!” James says in greeting, as the Portrait swings open.

“It’s not even eleven, yet,” he says reasonably, in much too good a mood to allow James to annoy him.

“McGonagall’s turning the Tower upside down, wants every student accounted for.”

_Of all the bloody bad luck…_

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you upstairs. We told her that you and Padfoot were in the bathroom, and that he was cutting your hair, so she’d have to wait a bit before you got your names ticked off. Here,” he says, swinging the Invisibility Cloak over them. “Get up to the bathroom.”

“All right,” he says, “but Padfoot’s falling asleep. Can you carry this lot while I get him up the stairs?” He hopes fervently that James won’t take it upon himself to look in the bags. Or offer to carry Sirius.

Lifting Sirius into his arms, he waits for James to settle the Cloak over the two of them before starting up the steps, hoping that no one comes down the other way or otherwise knocks it off.

Once safely inside the bathroom, he sees that one of the other two has put their night gear on one of the sinks. He changes into his pyjamas, and stuffs Sirius into his nightshirt, just as James knocks at the door.

When he tries to follow Sirius out of the bathroom, James pushes him straight back in, saying, “We need to give you shorter hair.”

“Why _me_? Why didn’t you say _I_ was cutting _Padfoot’s_ hair?” It would be the more logical thing to do, since Sirius actually _had_ his hair cut today.

“Because he’s already _had_ his hair cut today,” James says, sounding exasperated, “and every girl in the Tower knows about it. I couldn’t very well say he was having it cut again, could I? Anyway, yours is longer.”

He closes his eyes as James sets to work, wondering how much it will cost to have it set right. His dad’s getting less and less reliable about sending money through mum and today’s outing has almost wiped out his savings for the term.

“Oh stop _cringing_,” James says irritably. “It’s not as if I’m cutting off a limb. It’ll grow back. There. That should be enough.”

He can’t bear to face his reflection just yet, and follows James back to the dormitory where McGonagall has arrived and is waiting impatiently.

“What’s the matter, Professor?” he asks, plopping onto his bed. Sirius seems to have roused slightly and sits next to him. He is not encouraged by the way Sirius’ lips twitch when he looks at him.

_Potter, if my hair is anything as appalling as yours, you are a dead man._

“Two of our students tried to leave school this afternoon. Both Marlene McKinnon and Lily Evans were resolute that they needed to go home, and go without delay.” He exchanges a look with Sirius, who is looking carefully disinterested. “Madam Pomfrey is fairly certain both students were drugged, but she’s not sure what they’ve been drugged with.”

“Are McKinnon and Evans all right?” he asks. He is genuinely concerned for the two girls, but if whatever’s knocked the two of them out is the same thing that’s made Sirius babble incessantly about wanting to go home, he needs to know whether it’s necessary to drag Sirius to the Infirmary or not.

“They’re better now,” McGonagall says, sounding severely displeased, as well she might. “I’ve listed the symptoms to all the other Prefects – you’re to come straight to me, the Headmaster or Madam Pomfrey if you see anybody exhibiting them, is that clear?”

He nods, asking, “How serious is it?” He can feel Sirius shifting on the bed next to him, lying down and curling into a ball. “I mean, if someone _does_ start to show the symptoms, how long have they got?”

“_As soon as_, Mr Lupin. You are not to use your discretion in this. If you so much as _think_ that you see the symptoms, bring that student to the Infirmary _immediately_. Both girls started talking about missing home earlier this afternoon. If it wasn’t for Mr Potter here, Miss Evans and Miss McKinnon would have used the Three Broomsticks’ Floo to leave for home. That appears to be the first symptom. Second and third symptoms are violent headaches and nausea.”

_Whatever they’ve been drugged with, it’s a will-altering potion and trying to resist it is what’s doing the damage_, he thinks with certainty, recalling their own experiments with will-altering potions the previous year.

“Madam Pomfrey is in the process of brewing an antidote. If you see any of the junior students with the same symptoms, let her know at once.” She sweeps out again, even the back of her night-robe managing to express stern displeasure.

“What happened to your date with Lily?” he asks, as soon as the door closes behind McGonagall.

“It was fine. Mostly,” James says, sighing and running a hand through his hair. “I thought it was me. That I made her so miserable that she got homesick.” _Honestly Prongs, you can be so self-absorbed sometimes_. “Then she and McKinnon were ill all afternoon. I think it might have been something they ate today.”

“At the Three Broomsticks? It must have been there, because I think Padfoot’s been drugged too. He tried to get away from me at least four times today, insisting he needed to go home.”

Peter and James are instantly all concern, gathering around his bed and peering at Sirius.

“Go’_way_,” Sirius mutters sleepily, winding himself around Remus’ pillow. “M’trying to _slee…_”

“I don’t think he’s going to make a break for it, do you?” James asks worriedly.

“Not unless he plans to sleepwalk home.”

Sirius rolls in his sleep, clutching at his arm and throwing him off balance. “Don’t you all talk about me like I’m not even _here_. I can hear everything you say. Be quiet and let me sleep.”

“Hey Padfoot, let go of me. Go sleep in your own bed. Come on, Black,” he says, making a half-hearted attempted to shift Sirius.

“_Stop it_,” Sirius whines. “M’comfortable.”

“Padfoot,” he cajoles one last time, more for James and Peter’s benefit than for his own. If he had his way, Sirius would be tethered to the bed on a permanent basis.

“No!” Sirius snaps curtly, forming a fist and striking him in the thigh with it.

“Looks like you’re stuck with him for the night, Moony,” James says, grinning. “At least this way, you can make sure he doesn’t try to sleep walk home.”

“_Fine_,” he says, sounding put-upon. “You owe me, Prongs. For this _and_ for whatever it is you’ve done to my hair.” He can hear James snickering as he draws his curtains.

One of the candles above the headboard is lit as he turns back to Sirius, who is lying on his side and watching him. “Thank you,” Sirius says softly.

“For what?” he asks, just as softly, aware of Peter in the bed to their right.

“For tonight. For not laughing at me before. For staying with me after I fell asleep. For coming back with me instead of…you know.” _Instead of going home with one of the others?_

“You’re welcome,” he whispers, quickly touching his lips to Sirius’. Anything more than that, and the others will hear. “Are you feeling all right? Do you have a headache? Or feel like vomiting? You don’t still want to go home, do you?”

“I’m all right. This way I get to sleep next to you, so…” Sirius yawns and closes his eyes, snuggling into the pillow.

He really should do the same thing, but as he stretches out alongside Sirius, his newly cut hair falls into his eyes and it’s not long enough for him to hook behind one ear as he normally would.

“Hey, Padfoot,” he calls, reluctant to keep Sirius awake when he’s clearly suffering the ill-effects of the will-altering potion.

“Mmm?”

“My hair… What’s Prongs done to it?” Sirius’ eyes open, mischief sparkling in them as his lips twitch again. “How bad is it?”

“No classes tomorrow,” Sirius says sleepily, leaving him to wonder what the comment might mean.

“There’re classes on Monday,” he says, when it becomes clear Sirius isn’t going to volunteer any further information.

“I can fix your hair for you tomorrow, I meant,” Sirius says, hiding an impressive yawn behind one hand. His illusions that Sirius – being a Black – knows a spell that will grow his hair out again are shattered when Sirius looks at him closely and says, “Even it out, at least.”

“You really are useless,” he huffs, annoyed. His hair is going to end up even _shorter_ than it already is, and then he’ll have to kill James Potter, and then he’ll –

“Useless am I? So you don’t want me to try? You don’t want to see how long it might take tomorrow, with both of us locked in the bathroom _alone_, for me to even it out?”

“You’ll get it even all the way around?”

“Never cut anyone’s hair before,” Sirius says, sounding more and more sleepy as the conversation continues. “Might take me a while to get it right.”

“Might take you all morning.”

“Might take me all _day_,” Sirius grins happily, closing his eyes and settling into the bed.

He shifts closer to Sirius, bringing their bodies together and pulling the covers around them. Resting a hand on Sirius’ hip, there is something about the way the other boy’s nightshirt perfectly outlines his hip and thigh… Something that reminds him that he _definitely_ saw to it that Sirius had clean pants when he dressed the other boy for bed earlier.

“Are you wearing anything under your nightshirt?” he asks.

Sirius’ eyes remain shut but he smiles as he replies, “No.”

“Let me see,” he says, reaching for Sirius under the covers.

And Sirius lets him.  



	16. April 1977 (Sirius)

“What a nightmare,” James says, watching the Quidditch playing-pieces assembled between them. He prods a scarlet and gold figurine with his wand, and it brandishes a fist at him. “The figurines are almost as difficult to control as my _actual_ players.”

“For the last time, would you put those away,” he says. Breakfast will commence at any moment, and what they _don’t_ need is for anyone in Ravenclaw – or any of the other Houses, for that matter – to see the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain with his strategy kit out two days before the match.

Rather than spend their time preparing for that afternoon’s Arithmancy test like the rest of their year, he and James spent the time before breakfast making the most of the Great Hall, pushing James’ Quidditch strategy kit to the limit by making the miniature players use the entire Hall as a pitch. Convincing the players to get back into the box is a little more challenging, however.

“I don’t think we could have had worse luck this term,” James continues morosely, ignoring him and squishing one of the figurines with his wand. “We’ve been missing at least one player at almost every practice this term.”

“Prongs…” He’s used to James’ pre-match theatrics, but this is only the second time that he’s been on the House Team at the same time.

“Sunday’s after Full,” James says, putting the figurines into their individual velveteen bags at _last_, and stowing the strategy kit into a scrip full of other Quidditch-related odds and ends. “If it’s anything like last time…” he trails off, rubbing his head absently.

“Keep your voice down,” he demands, giving James a kick under the table as other students enter and start to take their seats.

Even though Evans gives James a snippy look when she catches him running a hand through his hair, he finds that he’s relieved to see that both she and McKinnon are looking much better than they were last month.

_It wasn’t my fault they stole my chocolate_, he thinks, watching McKinnon stumble slightly as she reaches to pull out one of the benches at the table. _It wasn’t my fault that the chocolate was laced_. There is Mother to thank for that, lacing his favourite sweet with will altering potion to force him to come home. _It wasn’t my fault they’re not as used to resisting will altering potions as I am_. If he’d eaten the whole lot… The powerful taste of mint in the sweets obliterated the taste of anything else. The fact that the chocolate was as addictive as it was should have been his first clue, but then he’s always found dark, mint chocolate addictive.

_If I’d eaten the whole lot, I’d be at home right now, under Imperius and banned from leaving without Mother’s express permission or instructions._

He’d probably be kept at home to host meetings at Grimmauld Place, while Regulus would be entrusted to attend council gatherings hosted by other Houses. And it seems, from reading the Prophet carefully, that the real power struggle has broken out over the position for Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, rather than Minister for Magic.

“So you are _coming_ this time, aren’t you?” James says, refusing to drop the topic.

_Depends, doesn’t it? On whether or not Remus breaks up with me before Full, and whether or not he decides that he wants me there._

“Can’t see why not,” he says, feigning indifference and tucking his wand away.

It will be the first time in almost four months all four of them go together, but the signs are looking up this month. Remus hasn’t snapped at any of them, he hasn’t sulked, and most importantly, he hasn’t broken up with Sirius.

“Your hair almost looks passable now, Moony,” he hears James say. Looking up, he can feel his lips forming the smile he normally reserves for Remus alone. Simply seeing Remus sometimes unleashes that smile, independently of his conscious control.

Peter and Remus take seats opposite James and himself, Peter watching the table as the House-elves send empty plates up from the kitchen.

“Getting tired of not being allowed to mention Evans, Prongs?” he taunts.

Remus has forbidden James to mention Lily Evans either to him or within his earshot until his hair returns to its original length. _Especially_ with regards to whether or not she’s looking better, or what he’s going to do to whoever was responsible for hurting her and – more importantly – making her run away from James last month.

“You must be getting tired of tutoring Moony in Transfiguration,” James shoots back.

In exchange for allegedly ruining Remus’ hair further, Sirius is required to tutor Remus in Transfiguration until his hair grows back to its original length.

“It’s hardly fair,” he says, looking disdainfully at Remus. “At least I went to some trouble to ensure it was an even length all the way around.”

That was their way of getting into the bathroom alone the morning after. He refused to let Remus out of their dormitory with hair looking the way it did after James went at him. Especially since James and Peter already put it about that he was the one responsible.

_Please Prongs_, he said at the time, _if you’re going to attribute Remus’ hair to me, the least you could do is let me alter it to something I might **actually** have inflicted on him, rather than your effort with the Herbology shears._

James, as the true best friend he was, bet him he couldn’t better the effort with Remus as their patient and long-suffering adjudicator. It took him six hours of being locked in the bathroom with Remus to achieve, at the end of which the ungrateful bastard declared that the pair of them came equal last.

“Yes you did, Padfoot,” Remus says, as though admiring a drawing done by a small child. “The trouble is, you evenly shortened all of my hair to an inch in length.”

“You kept moving! I told you to keep still,” he says, remembering those six glorious hours again. Remus insisted they both needed to be naked – to avoid mess – and that Sirius needed to sit in his lap so he could cut the front properly. “Every time you wiggled, I ended up cutting off too much, and then I had to even it out, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t do it very well, then,” Peter says, frowning at it critically, taking a small pause in between shovelling food down his throat. With Quidditch practice in less than half an hour, the other boy’s eating more quickly than usual. “The crookedness at the front still hasn’t grown out.”

As a consequence, James has been forbidden from discussing Evans in Remus’ presence, and Remus and Sirius have spent the last three weeks being able to talk privately with one another, about anything under the sun, _as long as_ there is a Transfiguration textbook open in front of them, and they look convincingly absorbed if anyone looks over at them.

“Yes it has, Moony just hasn’t brushed it properly,” he insists, sitting up and leaning precariously over the eggs so that he can ruffle Remus’ hair. _Just so I can touch him_. “Anyway, I don’t think it looks so bad.”

“So you’ll be volunteering for hair that length next, will you Padfoot?” James asks, already onto his second helping of porridge. He doesn’t understand how James and Peter do it – the mere _smell_ of food is making him light headed.

“I’ll cut it for you,” Remus offers in a soft, low voice, before Sirius falls back into his seat.

“You first, Potter,” he replies, winking at Remus to show he’s heard. It isn’t the first time that Remus has tried to provoke him in front of the others, and it’s almost become a game now, seeing how far one of them can push before the other dissolves into a fit of laughter, or makes a run for the nearest lavatory.

“I look like an escaped mental patient,” Remus says, with a long-suffering expression that Sirius is almost convinced he practises in front of the mirror. “Like I’ve escaped from St. Mungos,” Remus clarifies, when Peter looks at him curiously.

Stella Mira arrives with the morning mail, depositing three letters in front of him and sampling his breakfast in a blur of black feathers. He stuffs the letters into the pocket of his robes for later, ruffling the feathers on Stella Mira’s head and smiling as she croons happily.

“That still doesn’t make any sense,” James points out, not bothering to offer Remus the dish of scrambled eggs moving down the table. “Not everyone at St. Mungos has hair like that.”

“Never mind,” Remus says, appearing to lose interest in James while frowning at Stella Mira. Remus never eats the night before Full, or on the day of Full. “You lot should get moving. Pomfrey’s going to bail me up any minute.”

“Come on,” James say, standing and passing his Quidditch scrip to Peter. “We’ve training in a bit.”

“I haven’t finished yet,” he says, indicating his half-full plate.

He knows that James won’t ask him to abandon his breakfast and follow, since James is as concerned as Remus about what Sirius does and doesn’t eat.

He also knows James well enough to know that his best friend won’t wait for him when there is Quidditch to be played, and indeed, James and Peter are already racing along the Gryffindor table, herding the rest of the team. McKinnon stands up readily enough, although her face still pales now and then when she’s exerting herself.

Personally, he doesn’t think anything short of an Unforgivable would keep her from the pitch for training let alone for the game on Sunday, but she seems to be having trouble standing now. She’s still a brilliant Chaser once she gets into the air, but nothing as good as she was before she got sick.

Evans turns to face James when James reaches McKinnon. _Come on Potter, don’t mess this one up_, he thinks, watching closely.

“McKinnon,” James says, although it’s Evans he’s looking at as he says it. “Sirius is still going to be a while, so you needn’t come out onto the pitch for a bit.”

It’s not elegantly spoken, but it’s clear that James has made some sort of concession for McKinnon, and the dangerous expression on Evans’ face recedes somewhat.

“Oh, and here,” James continues, digging something out of his pocket. “I had Peter look into antidotes that would reduce some of the symptoms. This should help with the wanting to be sick.”

He and Peter worked on the antidote, based on Sirius’ knowledge of what his Mother was likely to have used. It is probably a good thing that James has no talent for Potions whatsoever – if he were helping with the antidote, he would have worked out almost immediately exactly how Sirius was able to correctly guess so many of the ingredients.

Evans’ expression actually softens, even though she affects to look at the package suspiciously. _Good boy, Prongs._

He jumps as a socked- foot works its way up his leg.

“Honestly,” Remus chides, as he spins around to face the other boy. “I’d be forgiven for thinking you’d forgotten about me entirely.”

“I haven’t forgotten you for a minute. Need some tutoring, do you?”

“What time’s Quidditch practice start?”

“Right now. Should be the last one before Sunday.”

He can see the rest of the team, in addition to Peter, leaving over Remus’ shoulder. Most of the students around them seem to be finishing up with breakfast, and making their way out.

He glances over at McKinnon again, where she and Evans are discussing the package with Ravenclaw students Harris and Yadev. Bronwyn Harris – one of the Ravenclaws in their year who takes Potions with him and Peter – is inspecting the contents, and speaking in a low voice.

“You’re doing it again,” Remus says. “I know I told you all to push off before Pomfrey gets here, but _honestly_ Padfoot.”

“Sorry,” he says, slightly ashamedly. Stella Mira looks as if she’s about to fall asleep on his plate and he gives her a gentle prod, wordlessly suggesting she get herself to the Owlery for a nap.

“What are you thinking about?” Remus asks, cutting his eyes over to the girls.

Both girls were violently ill for over a week before Pomfrey could brew an antidote strong enough to keep them from wanting to run home. It was only due to his exposure to such potions when he was younger that he wasn’t affected as strongly.

_That and I didn’t eat as much of the chocolate as they did._

Apart from the waves of homesickness he suffered on that Saturday in London, the only other symptoms he suffered were mild queasiness, and a vague sense of unease – as though where he was wasn’t where he was supposed to be.

To be fair, Remus went to great pains to assure him that where he was – Remus’ lap, at the time – was _precisely_ where he was wanted most.

“It’s not important,” he says, watching as the Hall slowly empties of students. He catches a glimpse of Madam Pomfrey, waiting outside one of the doors, probably waiting for him to push off before she approaches Remus.

He shoves his half-full plate aside, not having the appetite to finish his meal when he sees that Remus isn’t eating anything. It should be ridiculous that as little as appetite as he has now, he knows it would return if only Remus ate something, too.

“Ready for training, Black?” McKinnon says, approaching them. She looks much better already – to such an extent that Evans evidently feels she doesn’t have to nurse her. Good, he thinks, relieved.

Remus pokes him under the table, just as Sirius catches another glimpse of Madam Pomfrey. He can take a hint.

“I have to get changed first,” he says, more for Remus’ benefit than McKinnon’s.

“Want me to wait?” she asks, with something approaching her usual snap of impatience. He’s never been more pleased to hear it than he is now. Come to think of it, he doesn’t think he was ever pleased to hear it before now.

“I’ll meet you on the pitch,” he says, standing and brushing non-existent crumbs from his school robes.

“Hurry up, then,” she calls as she leaves.

Once in their dorm, he takes his uniform out but leaves it on the bed while he takes out the letters that arrived earlier. A quick glance at the seal on the first one tells him that it’s from Mother – bearing the crest of the House of Black as well as Mother’s personal sigil. A second letter with the same House crest is from Alphard, probably asking after his intentions for the holidays at the last minute. Planning, Sirius has learned from the little correspondence he’s had with his uncle, is not something Alphard does well. It is the third letter that rouses his curiosity, though. He sets both of the other letters aside to read the front of the third letter.

It is addressed to ‘Siro Noir’. He recognises Alphard’s writing on the edge of the parchment informing Sirius that he was asked to send the letter forward. Even more curious now, he snaps the seal and unfolds the parchment.

Scanning the bottom of the parchment reveals the letter is from Spencer – _Roger_ Spencer, from behind the bar of the Hydra. The start of the letter is mostly idle chat about one of the bands that played at the Hydra in the weekend just gone and how it was impolite of Siro to leave that night without saying goodbye to them but that Spencer is sure he’d be forgiven if he were to return and grace them with his presence again.

He is starting to wonder why Spencer has written to him at all when his eyes alight on the name ‘John’. Spencer states that he worked out that John was the boyfriend Siro was waiting for, just as Siro was the boyfriend John was searching for. Spencer goes on to add that he didn’t think it out of character for John to home in on Siro so quickly, although he thought it seemed a little out of character for Siro.

_It all made more sense when I realised the two of you met before that night_, the letter reads. _John’s never shown any interest in being anybody’s boyfriend before, so we were all taken a little by surprise._

The rest of the letter is worse, full of carefully worded phrases that don’t _quite_ accuse Remus of only showing interest in him because he’s Alphard’s nephew, of sentences that do no more than _insinuate_ that Remus is unable to care deeply for other people because he’s cold and lacking in empathy and affection, and at the end, an outright statement that a relationship based on physical need might be enough for some, but it seemed to Spencer as though Sirius was after ‘something more’, and that if he was unable to find it in ‘John’, there were other people who would be able to give him what he wanted.

_Yes, I expect there are. Starting with you, I bet._

His heart isn’t really in it, though. Certainly, the letter has less to do with Spencer’s concern that Remus is exploiting Sirius and more to do with Spencer’s thinly veiled desire to be the one doing the exploiting. Still, it’s not every day someone writes to you and sets out the answers to the questions you constantly torture yourself with.

_What the fuck does he see in me, anyway? He’s never said. Does he love me? Or is he just using me to get off?_

He’s thought about this, on countless occasions. Every time Remus reaches for him under the table, corners him in the bathroom, grins down at him as he wakes in the morning to find that the other boy has peeled back the sheets and opened his nightshirt… But it’s not as though Remus is doing those things just to get off, and even if he _was_, he’s hardly ‘cold or lacking in affection and empathy’ as he goes about it.

To be fair, the same could probably be said of Sirius himself. He hasn’t said anything to Remus about how he feels or what he wants… Remus has bought him presents for Valentine’s Day and for his birthday, but he’s done nothing for the other boy.

Then again, Remus is also the one who broke up with him twice, without telling him why. Remus is the one with all the experience, who’s supposed to know what he’s doing…

“Christ, you’re slow getting changed. Haven’t you a practice to get to?”

He doesn’t quite jump in alarm, but manages to set his hand down in such a way that Spencer’s letter gets lost under his bedspread.

“I’ll go when I’m ready,” he says smoothly, removing his school robes and draping them over the letters.

“Want some help getting dressed?” Remus offers, already glancing about the room for Sirius’ Keepers outfit.

The new uniform – one that actually fits – was a birthday present from the rest of the team and the gleaming new leather gloves, guards and breastplate were from James, Remus and Peter. Once again he feels uncomfortable, thinking of all of the things Remus has bought for him or given him recently, when Sirius is yet to do anything for him

_Perhaps I should get him something from Hogsmeade tomorrow?_ He hasn’t the faintest idea where to start.

“What would _you_ know about helping someone get dressed,” he challenges, locating his uniform amongst a parcel of odds and end the house-elves have sent up from the scullery.

“I know they have to get undressed first,” Remus offers, reaching under his day robe and yanking his pants down.

“Moo - ” Remus falls to his knees beside Sirius and presses his nose against the bare skin of Sirius’ outer thigh. “Get off me, you idiot! Your nose is cold!” He can feel warm breath against his thigh as Remus laughs, and then – “Stop _licking_ me. Untrustworthy Dark Creature.”

Remus is still laughing when he stands up again, rubbing his lips against Sirius’ neck before scattering a line of kisses down the main vein in his throat.

“Pomfrey’s waiting for you outside the Portrait again, isn’t she?”

“Of course she is. She’s a medi-witch. They like routines.”

“What story did she come up with this time?”

“She doesn’t need a story, Padfoot you thick, she just orders me to march myself to the Shack. _I’m_ the one that needs the story in case some nosy prat asks me.”

“Oh, pardon me,” he says in mock affront, pulling his day robe off over his head. “No, stop that,” he says, trying to keep Remus from hiding his uniform. “I can’t go to Quidditch naked.”

“You should. It’d make the game more interesting.”

“You might actually come out and watch it, then?” he says, his words slightly muffled as he slips his Quidditch robes over his head.

“I already do,” Remus says mildly, turning to his own trunk and digging out his scrip. “You’ve only played one game, but I was there for that. And that was before…” That was before they got together for the first time, is probably what Remus means.

“I know,” he says, equally softly. It’s not as though Remus showed any interest in Quidditch matches before he joined the team. It makes him wonder how long Remus has desired him, which usually leads to wondering _why_ Remus desires him. “We’ll have to take extra special care of you for Full. Can’t have you missing a moment of the match.”

“I wouldn’t miss watching you play for anything,” Remus promises, stuffing things into his scrip with sharp flicks of his wand. “Shame that Zonko’s are out of stock of omnioculars.”

“You’d be watching that closely, would you?” He’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not. He’s not sure if he’ll be able to concentrate on the game if he knows that Remus is watching him.

“Oh, well, maybe not for the game so much,” Remus says, zipping his scrip shut and setting it on the floor. “I was thinking more for after the match, I could use it to watch you get undressed and take a shower without you seeing me.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he says censoriously, having difficulty forming the words since his mouth has gone cotton dry.

“Could you do something for me, Padfoot? After the game on Sunday, when you’re in the shower on your own, after everyone else has gone, could you do something for me?” Remus asks, the words flowing from his lips in one long, lascivious whisper, as Remus’ fingers run up and down his sides, tickling him.

“Hey, stop that,” he laughs in spite of himself, as Remus catches his wrists and traps them behind his back.

“Would you touch yourself? Touch yourself so I could see, watching through my omnioculars? Would you do that so that I could play it back over and over until I wear the omnioculars out and I have to buy another pair and start all over again?”

“I said _stop_ that,” he says, attempting to sound severe and failing when Remus tickles him again, making him giggle. “Moony, I’ve training, I should go,” he says without much conviction before Remus claims his mouth again.

“Just five minutes more,” Remus says, when they pull apart. He reaches a hand up to Remus’ head and rubs his palm against Remus’ scalp. “You really do like it that length, don’t you?”

“Feels nice,” he says. The first time Remus went down on him after Sirius cut his hair…the sensation of Remus’ soft, velvety hair rubbing against his stomach, combined with the feel of Remus’ lips and tongue working his cock was almost the end of him.

“We should do yours then, too,” Remus offers again, sitting on Sirius’ bed and pulling Sirius down with him. “Don’t see why _you_ get to have all the fun.”

“You just want to get me in the bathroom with you,” he says lightly, determined not to hear the accusation in Remus’ voice.

Before he started going out with Remus, he never gave much thought to other people’s feelings. He knew what he wanted, he wasn’t ashamed of what he wanted, and if that upset other people, that was too bad for them.

Now however, he carries with him a constant sense of guilt that he’s not giving Remus what the other boy wants, that it isn’t fair that Remus do all the work while all he does is lie there.

“I never said I didn’t,” Remus points out reasonably, pulling Sirius closer into him. “Could you do my ears, please? Please, just – oh, _yesss_…”

He shifts his fingers from Remus’ hair to behind Remus’ left ear, scratching gently. Remus whines slightly, burying his face against Sirius’ shoulder. One of Remus’ legs kicks involuntary – _just like a wolf_ \- thudding against the mattress and causing the bed to shake.

“You’re adorable,” he says with a smile, placing a kiss on Remus neck as Remus’ whining increases in pitch.

“Then skip classes and come with me.”

“Who’ll take notes for you, then?”

Remus replies by kissing him so fiercely that if it weren’t for the fact that Remus never eats anything before Full, Sirius would be severely concerned that Remus is about to eat _him_.

“Come on,” he says, moving his hands away from Remus’ ears and stroking his face instead. “I’ve Quidditch and you’ve Madam Pomfrey.”

“But I won’t see you until tomorrow morning. I need enough of you to last me until then. I haven’t bought the bloody omnioculars yet.”

_Ah._

Remus picks up on his hesitation at once and lifts his head to regard Sirius with a frightening intensity. “You _are_ coming to the Shack tomorrow, aren’t you?”

He has to think quickly, now. He _was_ going to spend all of tomorrow with Remus, but since he read Spencer’s letter…

_I want to go to Hogsmeade tomorrow, without you, so I can buy you something. Something perfect, something that shows you how important you are to me, or that shows you how I’m always thinking about you. Zonko’s may have run out of omnioculars, but **someone** else must have them. _

He doesn’t want the other boy to know he’s getting him something from Hogsmeade, but he also doesn’t want Remus to think – not for one single second – that Sirius doesn’t want to be with him.

“Yes, but I need to pick up some things in Hogsmeade first,” he says carefully.

“Things?”

He nods, not trusting himself to speak.

“So you’re not staying with me tomorrow?”

“I didn’t say that!” Peter and James already ‘know’ that he’ll be helping Remus prepare for the Arithmancy test that he and James will be taking this afternoon. “I really need to go to Hogsmeade,” he emphasises softly, “but as soon as I’m done, I’ll come see you and spend the rest of the day with you.”

“We could go together,” Remus starts to say, but then pauses. “Except, no… We can’t because everyone will think I’ve gone home today. Well. All right,” Remus continues, levering himself off Sirius. “If you don’t want to have to spend _another_ weekend with me, that’s fine.”

“It’s not that, Moony,” he says, sitting up and wrapping his arms around Remus, pulling him back down. “I need to buy things in Hogsmeade – I haven’t been in ages.” _Not since you bought me a present. And then another one._

“Things that are so urgent you can’t wait until the holidays?”

“Not when I’m spending the holidays with you,” he says.

Remus still looks uncertain. “You haven’t actually said that you’ll be spending the Easter holidays with me, yet. It’s less than a week away, now.”

Remus looks so miserable, he has to kiss the other boy just to show him how much he loves him, even though he can’t find the courage to say that just yet. _Kisses now, gift next, words later._

“After Full,” he promises, slightly breathless. “I shall write to your mother myself. Anyway, it’s not as if you’ll be on your own tomorrow.” He’ll have to order James into going – his best friend is almost half convinced that he will be able to get Evans to go out with him again.

“I have to go,” Remus says tightly. Before he can kiss Remus again, Remus shoves up and off him without another word.

“Moony -” he says hesitantly, not knowing what he’s done to upset the other boy this time, but in no doubt that something is wrong.

“For fuck’s sake Padfoot, if I was simply hard up for company, I could take myself to London for the day.” He flinches again, trying not to think who Remus might go to London to see. “I wanted to spend the day with _you_, idiot.”

He knows where this is heading, knows that they’re on dangerous ground. “Moony - ” he repeats, only to be cut off once more.

“Sometimes…” Remus says softly, sounding regretful rather than frustrated or angry, “I feel as though _you_ don’t want _me_. You always stop me when I - ” He scrambles up off the bed, and reaches for Remus’ hand, feeling relieved at the way Remus clutches his fingers tightly. _Please turn around. Look at me_. “It’s almost like you don’t like getting off. But that can’t be right, can it? So what am I supposed to think?”

It does sound ridiculous, said like that. He loves getting off, loves that it is _Remus_ getting him off, because it’s Remus that he loves, but until he knows that Remus loves him too, it won’t matter how good it feels to come over Remus’ fingers or in his mouth, because as soon as the rush recedes, he is filled with shame at what he lets Remus do to him.

It’s like the indigestion that strikes after too much rich food, like the nights spent in detention after pulling off a particularly audacious prank, or a Howler from home because you’ve spent all your pocket money on something stupid and need more.

Perhaps it _is_ stupid, perhaps it’s only in his imagination, but Remus has never told him what he sees in him, and until then, no matter how wonderful what they do feels _when they do it_, the mere suspicion that Remus is merely using him because he is beautiful or – worse – convenient, will mortify him. He knows that Remus wants – expects – sex, but he can’t bring himself to go that far, not without knowing that Remus loves him.

_Am I the same as the rest of them to you? I need to know that I’m not, and I don’t know if that means that I’m in love or arrogant or naïve, but I **do** know that if Spencer’s right about you – about us – that it will destroy me._

“You’re not supposed to think,” he says in a rush, managing to keep the rest of his thoughts to himself as he tightens his grip on Remus’ fingers, spins the other boy around and presses their lips together.

Instead of waiting for Remus to push him back against the bed once more, he takes a step back and grabs a fistful of Remus’ robes, pulling the other boy forward so that he doesn’t have to break the kiss. Remus needs little urging to follow his lead and in another moment, he is falling back onto his bed, and the weight of Remus’ body presses against his own. He can hear the letters in his pocket crinkling as Remus shifts against him, grinding down.

“You’re so patient with me,” he says softly, moving his lips across Remus’ face to the other boy’s ear. Perhaps if he tells Remus what he likes about him, Remus will do the same for Sirius. “You’re kind,” he continues, kissing every part of Remus’ face he can reach. “Whenever I’m angry or upset…you always know how to ask the right questions so that _I_ can work out what I’m feeling and why. And I love the way you can make fun of someone without them even knowing it.”

_Even when you do it to me. All hells, Moony… How could I **not** want to be with you?_

_I love you. _

Remus lifts his weight onto his forearms, smiling shyly down at him before adjusting his position and nestling back down into him.

_I love nearly **everything** about you. The only think I can’t love about you is what **I** am when I’m with you. Spineless, shameful, pathetic weak… But you could change all of that just by loving me in return._

“I have to go,” Remus says, in a far different tone of voice to the first time. “Wish I could stay here with you. God, you should see yourself.”

“Mmm?”

“_Gorgeous_,” Remus says, before kissing his neck, his jaw, his cheek and then his lips.

Part of him flinches at the compliment, even as the rest of him wraps its arms around Remus’ neck and kisses him back thoroughly.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he promises. And _this_ time, rather than turning to leave without saying goodbye, Remus kisses his fingers before he lets himself out.

By the time he finally makes it onto the Quidditch pitch, only James and Peter are there. A jolt of panic goes through him, at the thought that he has missed a practice entirely, but that is before he sees the Ravenclaw players in the air above the Pitch.

“I thought the field was ours,” he says, as he approaches.

“It _should_ have been,” James says exasperatedly. “_Someone_,” this with a pointed look at Peter, “forgot to book it.”

“What about the new strategy?”

“We’ll have the field after last classes this afternoon. It’ll be pitch dark,” _and freezing cold_, “but I can’t make the team practise on a Hogsmeade weekend.”

“No,” he agrees, “I’ve a number of things I need to do tomorrow.” Regardless of whether he stays with James or with Remus over the Easter Break – returning to London is looking less likely by the day – he’ll need to take a gift to thank his host for receiving him.

“But you said you’d help Moony prepare for Arithmancy,” James says. Peter looks up anxiously – he hates having to be on his own with Remus around his time of the month.

“I can still do that,” he says, remembering the miserable expression on Remus’ face earlier and determined to do something about it. “I’ll go tonight, after practice.”


	17. April 1977 (Remus)

Perhaps it’s a good thing he won’t be going to Hogsmeade with the other three tomorrow. After his expedition earlier today, he’s down to a handful of Knuts.

_Who would have imagined that a simple sleeping draught would be so expensive?_

Of course, there is nothing simple about the sleeping draught he has taken out of the apothecary’s brown paper packaging. The contents of the dark green bottle are a simple sleeping draught distilled to nearly four times its original potency.

The curtains are drawn over all the windows in the Shack, but he knows the almost-full moon has started to rise, because he can feel his cock start to rise along with it. In mere minutes, the desire to fuck will be overpowering, and for that, he needs…

_For that, I need Sirius_, he thinks, eyeing the bottle’s smooth glass with distaste, even as he removes the cap, _but what I **have** is this._

Ever since the day they spent in London, it has become more and more clear to him that he can’t simply put Sirius down before Full and then pick him up again after. This month… this month is different to the two before, because this month, he and Sirius have made _some_ progress, and while things are still taken slowly, and Sirius is yet to agree to sex, he has hope that this is a situation that won’t last forever.

_I can keep my promises. I **can**._

Setting the cap aside carefully, he sniffs the contents. His stomach turns at the scent – not because it is unpleasant, but because the thought of consuming _anything_ this close to Full turns his stomach. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he takes a swig, swallowing almost a quarter of the contents.

Fighting the immediate nausea that rises up in him, he can feel the potion taking effect, even as his body struggles to reject it.

Somehow, he rolls as his head hits the pillow, and he is aware that he is not alone in bed.

“What - ”

“Ssh, Moony, it’s me,” Sirius says, taking advantage of his gasp of pain to lock their lips, and to slip his tongue into Remus’ mouth. Sirius smells of liquor and smoke and sex, the scent emanating from his slim body in waves as he runs his hands over Remus’ naked limbs.

He should feel tired, he is dimly aware that he should be exhausted, but he sits up in bed and returns Sirius’ kisses with fervour, shivering as Sirius kisses down his throat, following the path traced by his fingers, before sitting up and settling into Remus’ lap.

He doesn’t remember removing his trousers, but when Sirius’ lips return to his mouth, he can feel Sirius’ cock, hard and wet against his own.

“Need you,” Sirius moans, as Remus rocks his hips up and between Sirius’ legs. “Missed this so much, feeling you under me, feeling you inside me.”

“Missed you too,” he groans, pulling away from Sirius’ panting mouth. “Will you ride me?”

“Yes,” Sirius agrees rapturously. “Oh, yes.” Sirius’ pale skin is shining with sweat, trails of it running down the smooth, slick lines of his body. “Please, Moony.”

He has his hands on Sirius’ hips, and he lifts the other boy up slightly. “We need - ”

“We don’t need anything,” Sirius says, reaching between them and finding Remus’ cock, steadying it under him. “Like this, Moony, drop me, let me go.”

He does so, bucking up as Sirius falls into place. Without anything to slick them, it should hurt – it should hurt them _both_ – but the way Sirius is gliding down around his cock surprises him.

“How do you want it?” Sirius asks, his voice raw with desire. “Show me, show me how you want it, how you want me to ride you.”

His hands return to Sirius’ hips, moving him up and down his cock, and Sirius is so light, so malleable in his hands, his arse clenching perfectly around Remus’ cock, precisely in time with the movement of Remus’ hands, as perfectly synchronised as if Remus were bringing himself off with his fingers, but a hundred, thousand times better.

“Come, Moony,” Sirius pleads, his eyes shining. “Want your come, want it so much, want it inside me. I’ll charm it so it stays inside me, wet and slick and ready for you to take me again, whenever you want. _Come_, Moony.”

“_Fuck_ Padfoot,” he manages, closing his eyes and trying to bring himself there. “What have you done to me? I can’t - ” There is something preventing him from achieving orgasm, but he’s so close he can almost taste it. “Answer me, Padfoot,” he says, worried at first at how scared his voice sounds, and then at the silver and black spots that dance in front of his eyes.

“Come for me, Moony,” Sirius begs, but he can’t see Sirius, there is only darkness, and he falls back against the pillows, wrung out and exhausted.

“Padfoot?” There’s no sign of the other boy when he rouses, but it was kind of Sirius to take the trouble to stuff Remus back into his clothing so he wouldn’t be cold. He’s aware that he has both hands down the front of his pants, wrapped around his prick and squeezing hard enough to bruise.

“Padfoot, this isn’t funny,” he says again, softly, hearing only a faint echo in response. _Selfish prat, the least he could have done was stay the night._

His mouth feels rancid, and without thinking, he feels around his face, sensing a stickiness that has nothing to do with the fact that the same hand was wrapped around his cock a second ago. It takes a while for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and when they do, he can see that he’s thrown the potion back up, the stain starting to congeal on the pillow.

_Can’t blame him for not wanting to have anything to do with you, can you Lupin?_

His stomach gives a tremendous heave again, and he rolls over onto all fours, dry retching on the bed. “_Scourgify_,” he manages, as the convulsions continue to rack his body.

The stain vanishes, along with the scent of his sweat, and any traces of Sirius. Settling against the crisp, white linens, he waits for his breathing to settle. When he’s regained his strength, he staggers off to the bathroom to rinse the foul taste from his mouth and as he returns to the bedroom…

“Where… Why did you go?” he asks, rubbing his mouth dry against the sleeve of his robes.

Sirius rolls on the bed to face him, his languorous form framed by the opaque, red curtains tied back to each bedpost. “I didn’t go anywhere,” Sirius replies, looking at Remus as though Remus is insane.

“You did, you left before I could come,” he says, feeling betrayed. He shivers slightly, chill draughts gusting over his naked flesh, pebbling his skin into goose bumps.

“No, I never would,” Sirius says earnestly, pushing the covers off his body. “Never,” Sirius repeats, giving him a concerned look, kneeling up in the bed and letting the sheets glide off his body completely. “Let me make it up to you,” Sirius offers voluptuously, the soft candlelight making his pale skin glow gold. “Come and fuck me again.”

That sounds like a wonderful idea to him.

Surging forward, he pushes Sirius back onto the bed, remembering at the last moment to untie the heavy, red, velvet curtains that give them their privacy. “I thought you didn’t want to fuck in the dorm,” he says, as Sirius lifts his hips and manoeuvres one of the pillows under his bottom.

“I told Peter and James to get out,” Sirius replies, folding his legs and lifting his knees to his chest. The brilliant scarlet of the sheets makes Sirius’ skin look impossibly pale in comparison.

“That wasn’t very nice of you,” he says gravely, running his hands lightly over Sirius’ thighs.

“It’s about time they stopped tagging after us and entertained themselves. I get tired of having to explain everything to them,” Sirius says petulantly.

“All the same,” he says, positioning himself at Sirius’ entrance, “once we’re done here, you’re to apologise to Peter and James.”

“_Moony_,” Sirius whines, frowning at him.

“That’s not all,” he says, rubbing the tip of his cock against Sirius’ hole. “After you’ve apologised, we’re going to include them in the next prank we plan.”

“Moony, please don’t make me do that! I just _said_ that – _Oh_…” Sirius gasps, as Remus pushes into him.

“You were saying?”

“All right,” Sirius pants out, lifting his knees off his chest and wrapping his legs around Remus’ waist. “All right, _fine_, I’ll be nice to them, but only because you asked me to.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“Of course it bloody is! I’ll do anything you ask, Moony, you know that,” Sirius gasps, and Remus laughs, because if Sirius will do anything for him, then there is literally nothing in the world Remus can’t have or do.

“Beautiful Padfoot,” he says, feeling Sirius clench around him as the other boy starts to come. “You feel so– ” Sirius has a look of concern on his face, as Remus cuts off with a gasp of pain, erect and unable to come. “I - ”

“Moony, are you all right?”

“I’m so tired,” he confides, struggling to keep his eyes open. The moon gleams through the windows of the Shack, painting pale stripes of light across his sterile, white bedding. He can just make out bits of Sirius’ face from the shadows, the other boy standing at his bedside and gazing down at him with wide, silver eyes full of concern. “I’m sorry.”

“Ssh, it’s all right,” Sirius croons, coming closer. “If you need to sleep, then sleep, Moony.”

“I’m so tired,” he says again, trying to get his trousers off so he can attend to – _ah_. “But I need to - ”

“Here,” Sirius offers, perching fully dressed on the edge of his bed, working one hand furtively along Remus’ arm, fingers joining Remus’ own around his cock, stroking and squeezing gently. “Let me help.”

“No, you don’t want to - ”

“I do,” Sirius assures him, using his other arm to gather Remus into him, and ruffle his ridiculously short hair. “Beautiful wolf, think anything would keep me away from you for long?”

It only takes a few strokes before he comes, with Sirius kissing his face as he crashes back against the mattress.

“Better?” Sirius asks, the pads of his fingers still teasing Remus’ exhausted cock. He wants to reply, but can’t find the strength to do anything but yawn. “You sleep, then,” Sirius says fondly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

When he awakes, he is covered in his own sweat and come, but his feverish imagination has managed to conjure not just the memory, but the _scent_ of Sirius. Perhaps there’s something in the potion that causes his dreams to be even more vivid than usual?

_Still most of the bottle left_, he thinks, as he lifts it. While he can’t recall bringing up the first dose of potion he took, he can remember cleaning up after himself earlier that night. _I’ll just have to do better this time_, he thinks, feeling his prick start to rise again.

Nothing short of sex will satisfy it on nights like this. No amount of being reasonable, or logical, or proper will persuade it otherwise. Of course, the dreams aren’t unusual – he has them nearly every night.

In his dreams, his hair is still the length it was before James Potter butchered it, he can see in the dark without seeing where the light comes from, and Sirius…

In his dreams, Sirius is always naked, always willing, always prepared to do anything for him.

_And it will probably only ever be in my dreams,_ he thinks ruefully, recalling their conversation in the dormitory that morning. _But I can keep my promises. I **can**._

Perhaps he shouldn’t take it too much to heart – Sirius and James are probably planning an end of term prank, and need to purchase the necessary items without his knowledge, because what he doesn’t know about, he can’t disapprove of.

He thought he managed to put a stop to that when the two of them failed to come up with anything spectacular for April Fools’ Day. The entire school walked on eggshells for the entire day, as well as for most of the following one, waiting for the prank they were certain was imminent.

Sirius still maintains that the expression on people’s faces whenever he or James strode past, the expression of people looking as though they were waiting for the penny to drop, was more entertaining than anything else they could have come up with on their own.

Perhaps they plan to make up for it this week? Or perhaps it is to celebrate victory on Sunday? He isn’t surprised that James hasn’t confided in him, but it hurts that Sirius has left him out of this. _Things he needs to get urgently before the Break – well, what else could it be?_

Lifting the bottle to his lips, he drinks deeply, hoping that he will be more successful the second time. He hears it fall to the floor as sleep takes him once more.

“What was that noise?” Sirius asks, appearing from the shadows one more, carrying something in his hands. “Did you hear that?”

“Why,” he starts to say, and then stops when he starts to cough. _Why are you asking me that?_

“Poor thing, you must have been starving,” Sirius says, neither waiting for a reply, nor explaining himself properly. “You’ve been ill,” Sirius continues gently, smiling fondly as he rubs his palm against Remus’ hair. “Your skin felt so cold…” It _still_ feels cold, he realises. He’s _freezing_. “I wasn’t sure whether you fell asleep or passed out, but you felt so cold. I was worried, Moony.”

“Tired,” he says, attempting to sit up and get out of bed. Sirius places a hand on his thigh and pushes him back down to sit on the bed. “What - ” he asks stupidly as Sirius kneels at Remus’ feet.

“Ssh,” Sirius soothes, removing Remus’ boots and setting them aside. “Soon have you warm and snug.”

“No, leave those,” he says, as Sirius pinches the sock fabric around the toe of one foot, preparing to pull it away. “It’s cold,” he clarifies, feeling a tremor go through him.

“Is it like this every time?” Sirius asks, rubbing his hands over Remus’ socked feet to warm him up.

“What - ” he starts to say, falling back onto the bed. It’s an effort to sit up again, and he finds he can’t be bothered, feeling his eyes droop shut.

His eyes slam awake and he scrabbles up. “Padfoot!”

“Ssh, I’m here, Moony,” Sirius says, looking alarmed. “I thought you’d fallen asleep again, for a moment.”

“I thought you’d gone,” he says, relieved to see that Sirius is still there.

“Only to get a washcloth,” Sirius says with a smile, working the washcloth between his legs. “Here,” Sirius continues, after rummaging about in Remus’ scrip for a clean pair of pants. “One leg at a time, don’t strain yourself, now. I didn’t even think you were awake, you looked half-dead. I _scourgified_ the sheets,” Sirius continues, working Remus’ feet through his pyjama bottoms and then tugging them up to his hips.

“I already did that,” he says, glancing at the mound of sheets to Sirius’ left.

“I did your uniform as well,” Sirius continues, as though he hasn’t said anything.

“Why did - ”

“And _lavo_ on you,” Sirius says, pulling Remus up by the arms so that he can get the pyjama top around him.

For a moment, Sirius has the garment _and_ his arms around Remus, and pauses, looking at Remus hesitantly. He closes the distance between them and kisses Sirius, pressing his bare chest against the fine weave of Sirius’ school robes.

He’s confused, because when he pulls away, Sirius is flushed, and panting, and…still fully dressed…

_Stupid potion must be interfering with my dreams_, he thinks viciously. As if it isn’t bad enough that he can’t fuck Sirius when he’s awake, now he can’t even do it in his dreams.

“Don’t go,” he pleads, moving his lips to Sirius’ ear. “Not until I - ”

“Until you what?” Sirius asks, pulling the top down his arms, and fiddling with the buttons.

_Until I come_, he thinks, his head dropping onto Sirius’ shoulder. The other boy smells like the breeze, like fog, like the leather and willow of Quidditch, all scents that he shares with James.

Sirius smiles, his fingers working at the third last button. “I’ll stay till you’re asleep,” he promises, and Remus shivers at the intensity on Sirius’ face, as Sirius finishes with the buttons and kisses him gently on the lips. “Still cold, are you?”

He closes his eyes and leans into Sirius, smelling the clean, pure scent of the other boy. He can feel Sirius reaching to one side, probably for the bed sheets, and opens his eyes in surprise when Sirius removes his cloak and wraps it around Remus.

“It’s charmed,” Sirius says, tightening the wrap, and kissing Remus’ forehead. “It’ll keep you warm as long as you need it to.”

“Mmm’anks,” he murmurs, snuggling into Sirius. His cock, for probably the first time that night, is quiet, and not the raging bar of unsatisfied lust it normally is at this time of the month.

“Sleep, Moony,” Sirius says, curling up beside him.

He closes his eyes, fully intending to sleep, but he finds himself opening them again almost immediately, searching for Sirius.

“Padfoot?” There is no reply. He shoves the covers aside and steps out of bed, the air in the Shack cool against his naked flesh. “Padfoot, where are you?”

“Here, lover,” Sirius breathes into his ear, embracing him from behind. “I thought I told you to wait for me in bed, hmm?” He can feel Sirius’ stiff cock pressing against his arse.

“You said you’d stay until I fell asleep.”

“Asleep? No, Moony, none of that. Not yet, anyway.” As Sirius says it, he realises he doesn’t feel tired anymore. “No sleep for you until you _earn_ it.”

“Padfoot…”

“Don’t you want to fuck me, then? Come on, Moony,” Sirius says insistently, pulling him back to the bed, one hand working Remus’ cock erect. “I want to feel this inside me,” Sirius continues, stroking Remus to hardness, Sirius’ painful grip giving Remus’ cock no option but to strain up. “Beautiful, so beautiful,” Sirius says, nuzzling the back of his neck, his nose brushing against the sweep of Remus’ hair that falls around his shoulders in a sweaty mass. “Back to bed,” Sirius commands, spinning them both around to face the bed.

Sirius pushes him from behind and he puts his hands out to slow his fall.

“Oh _God_!”

“Moony?”

“You _pushed_ me,” he says, struggling with the covers. He is suffocating, tangled up in the bed sheets and his pyjamas and… _What is **this**_, he thinks in outrage, pulling at the winter cloak clasped about his shoulders.

“Ssh, Moony, easy, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Sirius croons, his hands smoothing over Remus’ face, his throat, his chest, his legs. “I did it in my sleep, I’m sorry.”

“I just want to _sleep_,” he says desperately, accidentally kicking Sirius in an attempt to free himself of some of his bedding.

“All right,” Sirius says slowly. He can feel a shift in the balance of the bed that probably means that Sirius is getting out. “I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Sirius promises, brushing his lips over Remus’ once more. “Sleep well.”

“Mmm,” he responds, surrendering in his battle against the bed sheets, and lying prone. “Oh, that feels nice,” he murmurs, opening his eyes to see Sirius run his tongue along the length of Remus’ cock once more.

“_Nice_,” Sirius laughs, nipping his thigh none too gently. “Ungrateful bastard, you fucking love this and you know it.”

“Not nearly as much as you do,” he replies, spreading his legs wider so Sirius can lick his balls as well.

“Only one thing I like better,” Sirius agrees. It feels as though Sirius is balancing Remus’ sac on his tongue, lifting it up firmly and nuzzling into the base of his cock.

“Well, it’s up to you to decide,” he says, his sweat soaking the sheets as he strains not to push Sirius’ mouth down around his prick. “I’ve only the one cock.”

“Mmm,” Sirius hums, releasing his sac and returning his tongue to attending to Remus’ aching prick. He’s so close to orgasm, one more lick and the decision will be out of Sirius’ hands, he’ll be shooting into that gorgeous mouth any second. “I’ll have to think about that.”

The sucking wetness is gone, and he wails as he opens his eyes. “Padfoot, you fucking tease,” he cries out, unable to turn properly because he is so swathed in sheets and clothes and…

_…what is **this**? God, I **must** have been exhausted if I couldn’t even get my cloak off before falling asleep_. He wriggles free of the bedding, struggling so vigorously, he inadvertently finds release against one of the pillows, sighing in relief and rolling his hips into it.

“Padfoot?” he calls, managing to free his arms, and pushing the covers aside. Sweat is pouring off his body, but he hugs his cloak around him, taking comfort in its warm, clinging folds. Along with orgasm comes realisation, and he reaches for his wand, casting lumos and searching about the room.

_He isn’t here, he never was, it was all just a stupid dream. God, the shame of it_, he thinks, absently using a corner of the cloak to wipe his brow.

_The bottle, where’s the bottle got to…_ He locates the empty, green bottle, retrieving it from where it has rolled into the shadow cast by the dresser.

_Empty. Fuck._

Holding the wand light to his wrist, he notices for the first time that he isn’t wearing his watch. Or his boots. He hasn’t been careless though – everything’s been put away neatly in its proper place. Almost five hours until moonset, his watch tells him.

_No more potion_, he thinks despairingly. His cock is starting to harden again, and he flings himself back into the bed. He must be going insane, because he’s almost certain he can smell Sirius on the pillow. There’s almost nothing he can’t trick himself into believing he has if he wants it badly enough. Burying his face in the Sirius-pillow, he rubs himself against one of the others, grinding his cock against it through his pants, through his trousers.

_Fuck, Padfoot, wish you were here_, he thinks, realising the rubbing won’t be enough and using one of his hands to finish himself off.

His cock is so sensitive now, it hurts to touch. _No, please…_ If he doesn’t get proper sex _soon_, when the morning finally comes, there’s likely to be nothing left but a worn down stump of flesh where his cock used to be. He wants to shriek, because he can feel it starting to rise again.

_No, you can’t, you can’t, I just saw to you_, he thinks desperately, cursing his wilful cock for disobeying a direct command.

Soon, though, the skin will be more than just sensitive – the flesh will start to _burn_, as though the first layer of skin has been peeled away, and anything he does to relieve his erection will hurt nearly as much as leaving himself unfulfilled.

Shaking, he wraps the sheets around him once more and tries to burrow into the pillow that smells of Sirius.

_I can’t do this, I can’t, I can’t, I **can’t**_, he thinks, moaning as his cock attains full hardness and screams for attention.

He flings the Sirius-scented pillow to the floor, and lifts his head. _Sex_, he thinks urgently. _Miranda_, he thinks immediately after it. She’ll be in her flat in South London, and he can Apparate there, take care of the problem, and be back before morning. _This way, I can take care of this problem without hurting or worrying Padfoot_, he thinks triumphantly, reaching shakily for his boots and slipping them on.

Wrapping the cloak around him more tightly, he steps out of the Shack and into Hogsmeade, the scent of Sirius following him like a haunting spirit.

By the time he has Apparated to the block of apartments in South London, and started to knock on her door, he has second thoughts. Second thoughts that run from his mind as Miranda throws the door open, dressed only in her night-robe.

“I almost thought you weren’t coming,” she says, giving him a quick, nervous smile while ushering him inside. “So I didn’t bother getting properly dressed. This is the latest you’ve ever been.”

“Oh,” he says, not sure what else to say.

“I should apologise, for what I said last time. There’s something you should know, and I - ”

“I should apologise, too,” he says quickly, wondering how to tactfully bring the subject around to the fact that he needs some attention. “After telling you that the only person I had any intention of going home with was the one I brought that night,” – Sirius’ birthday night in London – “I shouldn’t have - ”

“Oh, that,” she says with a casual shrug, reaching for his cloak as he slips out of his boots. “Yes, he must have been special, mustn’t – Well, I see you didn’t trouble yourself dressing up for me, either.”

He realises with a start that he’s in his pyjamas, as he removes his socks and sets them aside.

“Sorry, I - ”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says warmly, pulling him towards her for a kiss. “Oh it’s _good_ to see you again,” she continues, slipping out of her nightgown. “You too,” she tells his cock, as she pulls his pyjama bottoms down. Kissing it through the fabric of his pants, she starts to work his pants down and off as he divests himself of the cloak and his pyjama shirt. “I mean, I’ve been wanting to talk to you for weeks, now, but I think that can wait until – What is it?”

“Nothing, I - ” The scent of Sirius that has haunted him for most of the night has gone, and he finds that his heart aches for it. That he wants it back, wants _Sirius_ back, and as talented as Miranda is, she’ll never be what Sirius is to him. “Perhaps we should talk first. I came here to talk, too.”

“What about?” she asks, rubbing the knuckle of her index finger up and down his cock. Reluctantly, he steps away from her and sits down.

“I thought – before we did anything else – that you should know it’s over between us.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she says. While it’s very nice that she’s so understanding, he’s a little taken aback by her equanimity. Even more so when she smiles and crawls closer to him. “I’m surprised you stayed with him as long as you did,” she says softly, her voice suggesting she’s going to do everything she can tonight to help him get over it.

“I mean it’s over between _us_,” he says, realising that she’s misunderstood completely. “You and I,” he clarifies, in case she thinks that by ‘us’ he is still referring to Sirius and himself.

“I see,” she says with a smile, as though laughing at herself. “I didn’t realise that you – I mean, is this something that - ”

While this is more in line with his expectations of what she was likely to say or do when he said it was over, he doesn’t like being the one responsible for causing her to search for words like this.

“Miranda - ”

“He _must_ be special, mustn’t he?” she repeats. “Didn’t think you were the sort to – Well, you know. Even before, when you thought you might be exclusive with Mark, we still… Is this because of him, or because of you?”

“Because of Mark?”

“No, this new boy. Are you serious about him because of who he is, or because you’ve decided a steady boyf- partner is what you want now?”

He wants to tell her that it’s because of Sirius, that there is something about the other boy that would make him do anything to please him, to make him laugh and see him smile. But at the same time, she’s hardly likely to want to hear him go on at length about how wonderful Sirius is.

“I think I should stop messing about,” he says, reaching for his pyjama bottoms and pulling them quickly. It’s not an attempt to hide his erection – it’s too late for that – but they will provide _some_ protection if she decides to jump him. “I want to be with one person, and know that I’m the only one for him. Or her,” he adds, when her face falls.

He quickly pulls on his pyjama shirt so he doesn’t have to see the expression on her face, and when he reaches for the cloak… For the first time, he takes a close look at the black, fine-wool cloak draped over the back of Miranda’s sofa. It’s not his standard, Madam Malkin’s Hogwart’s issue cloak. Instead, it has a familiar jacquard weave that almost all of Sirius’ clothes have, marking it a signature garment of the House of Black.

_He was there_, is his next thought. _He was really there, he changed my clothes, wrapped me in his cloak and put me to sleep…_

_…and I’ve come **here**, to… _He realises all of a sudden that far from taking care of his erection without hurting or worrying Sirius, he won’t be able to live with _himself_ if he goes through with this. _Yes, that’s why I came here, but I don’t want to, not behind his back, not at all, not when he came to see me, and… Did I send him away?_

Miranda sighs. “So, if you hadn’t met him, do you think you and I might have…”

“We might have,” he says, trying to smile kindly. Perhaps Sirius has a point, and there _is_ something to be gained from practising facial expressions in front of the mirror every morning.

“You’ve fallen for him hard, haven’t you?” she asks, reaching a hand up to touch his hair. “I suppose _this_ was his idea,” she says, raising an eyebrow at his short hair.

_No actually_, he wants to snap, _it wasn’t. He’s just been the only one to not make fun of me._

“So, how does he feel about you?” she asks. “Hmm? Has he even told you who he really is?”

His blood runs cold at the implication of her words.

“He’s - ” he starts, not sure what he’s supposed to say to that, and vaguely aware that he doesn’t need to justify anything he does with Sirius to her. “That is, I - ”

“Confused? I don’t blame you. That pretty little toy you’ve found for yourself is the heir to the House of Black. Sirius Black, Alphard Black’s nephew, but he’s from the main line of the family tree. Don’t look so surprised – we were all made to learn the names of the other pure-blood families when I was a girl. I was even betrothed to a scion of the House of Meliflua, once.”

“What happened?”

“I told my father I was in love with someone else. A young boy – well, he was young back then, anyway – from the House of Crouch. Once I slept with him, he told all his friends. He told me he’d marry me, that was why I let him, but after he finished telling his stupid friends about his conquest…”

“Sirius isn’t like that,” he says, fighting down a smile. He feels sorry for her, he _does_, but in his mind, he can see Sirius the morning after they finally have sex, poking him awake and saying ‘Moony, wake up, you’ll never believe who I shagged last night’.

She senses his amusement, and glares. “Fine. Work it out the hard way, then.”

“Work what out the hard way?” he says, fed up with this. Determined to get out of there as quickly as possible, he slips his boots on over his bare feet.

“I asked you what he saw in you, you didn’t answer,” she says. “It’s all right, there’s nothing wrong with it. I’m the last person to throw stones, since you and I use each other for sex, but we use _each other_, Remus. That’s the difference.”

“You think he’s…” Again, he wants to laugh, because she’s got it so totally wrong. “Sirius is _not_ using me for sex,” he says.

For the first time all year, he is grateful for Sirius’ uptight prudishness, because it means that he can scoff at her accusations, because he knows that Sirius would _never_.

“They’re very charming, you’ll find. Being rich and pretty helps immensely. But it’s all lies, told to get you to open your legs, and once they’ve had their fun, they marry some sweet little pure-blood virgin and breed lots of obedient little pure-blood children. I just thought I should give you fair warning.”

“All right,” he says, reaching for Sirius’ cloak and wrapping it around himself, inhaling the scent deeply. “Look, I think you’re wrong about him, but - ”

“You’re only ending it with me because of him, aren’t you?”

“It has nothing to do with you, Miranda,” he says patiently, because he can afford to be kind. “It might very well have worked out between us, but I met him and…he’s the one I want, now. The only one.”

She smiles sadly, but sees him out, and as he Apparates back to Hogsmeade, he is filled with a sense of gratitude that he can trust his beautiful, precious, perfect Sirius, that he knows Sirius well enough to able to deny Miranda’s accusations of the other boy. Whoever it is that Sirius’ family might want him to marry, Sirius has always made it clear that the _only_ person he’s ever been interested in is Remus.

_Less than three hours to moonset_, his watch reads once he’s back in the Shack. His erection is still there, demanding to be seen to and probably furious with him for denying it earlier, but he knows _now_ that the mere thought of betraying Sirius is a million times more painful than any discomfort his cock can cause him.

Entering the bathroom, he fills the tub with water as cold as he can get it, and then he casts _gelidus_ on the water as an added precaution. The shock of the first plunge into the freezing water isn’t enough to kill his erection, but it reduces the burning intensity considerably.

_I can keep my promises_, he tells himself, his teeth chattering as he lifts Sirius’ cloak to his nose and inhales deeply. It smells of forgiveness, and love, and _Sirius_, of everything good and everything he doesn’t deserve. _I **can**._

It seems like an eternity before he is able to close his eyes, and after he does, it seems far too early for James Potter to be hammering on the door of the Shack, demanding entry.


	18. April 1977 (Peter)

“Leave it alone, Prongs,” Sirius says, pretending to sweep their surroundings with a superior look, while _actually_ being on the lookout for anyone who might be watching them.

“He’s probably still snoring,” James says venomously, glaring at the door. “Wish I was, too. I don’t like this stupid, new rule.”

“Yeah? Well you can blame your precious Evans, can’t you?”

He was thinking the same thing, but only Sirius can get away with saying something like that to James. Especially with the mood James is in now.

Professor Meadowes made the announcement at dinner the night before. All students intending to go to Hogsmeade for the day would need to leave by half eight and have their names taken down.

Upon returning, they would need to go to her office and have their name marked off. At a quarter to five she would wait at the main gate to mark off names and anybody who didn’t have their name marked off by five o’clock would have to explain themselves or receive detention.

They were told it was because Lily and Marlene tried to leave for home at the last Hogsmeade weekend.

“I heard Snivellus suggesting the new rule to Meadowes,” he volunteers, as Sirius’ and James’ gazes swing to him.

“He can’t know Moony and I were in London last Hogsmeade weekend,” Sirius says, frowning at him as though it is _Peter’s_ fault.

“Git,” James says under his breath. “Well, I’m not hanging about here on my own until Moony drags himself out of bed.”

“Three Broomsticks?” he suggests. It’s supposed to be Spring, but nobody seems to have bothered to tell the still-frosty Scottish weather. At least it will be warm inside the inn.

“Are you simple, Wormtail?” James says, sounding disgusted. “We were almost _poisoned_ there. I’m not risking having my team drugged with anything.”

He glances uncertainly at Sirius, waiting for the other boy to say something. He’s certain that Sirius knows more about whatever it was that afflicted Lily, Marlene and himself. More than he’s letting on, certainly. Sirius is good at Potions, but he isn’t good enough to guess the ingredients to the antidote of a complex, malignant, will-altering brew without _some_ sort of inside knowledge.

“What do you think our chances are for tomorrow, anyway?” Sirius asks instead, deftly steering the conversation away from having to answer any awkward questions.

James grunts in response, giving the door another heated look. “As it stands,” James says, “I think we’ll be spending the Easter Break at my place.”

“Written home to tell your folks yet?”

“No,” James says, as though as it’s just occurred to him. “Shame Evans isn’t on the team.”

“Well,” Sirius says shortly. “You’re Captain. Put her on, if you want.”

“Better get it out of your system,” Peter says. “Moony won’t stand for that sort of talk once you’re in there.”

“Yeah, well it’s all down to Padfoot, isn’t it? We’d be all over and done with this if _you_ hadn’t cut his hair so short,” James snipes back.

“I think it looks all right,” Sirius replies, not sounding the least bit put out.

“You’re the only one that does. I asked Lily what a ‘mental patient’ was,” James continues. “Thought it might be a Muggle thing.”

“Oh yes? What did she say?”

“That I should look in the mirror, especially if I thought she wasn’t going to notice the fact that I had Charmed Snivellus’ books to bite him.”

Sirius smiles with one half of his mouth, glancing around their surroundings once more. “You still haven’t answered my question about the Break.”

He fights down a flash of hurt at the fact that the two of them are getting together over the Break without inviting him. His mother will probably send him around to the Potters for a few days anyway – the two families have been friends for years, living on neighbouring properties in Somerset.

He notices that James has turned to look at him. “You’ll be invited, Wormtail,” James assures him, sounding a bit tired.

_Probably knows his mother would make him invite me around, if he’s having other people over_. He tries not to feel bitter over the half-hearted invitation – it’s not as though he was a better friend with James before the other boy decided Sirius was his best friend.

“Want to come back into town? I need to buy some things,” Sirius says, glancing back up the street.

“No, I should make sure Moony’s all right. Sure you don’t want to come in for a bit?” James teases, grinning and reaching for the doorknob.

“No, I’ll stop by later,” Sirius says, with a mock shudder. “I spent almost all of last evening tutoring Moony. I’m not ready to get back into it just yet.”

“Don’t blame you,” James says. “The amount of stuff he’s made you go through the past few weeks – I didn’t realise he needed _that_ much help with Transfiguration.”

“Probably just doing it to get even for what I did to his hair,” Sirius says.

He can’t blame Sirius for not wanting to go in either – the past three weeks, all Sirius needed to do was walk into a room that contained Remus before the latter made him sit down and explain some obscure point of Transfiguration. _The amount of tutoring he’s doing would bore anyone to tears._

“So you admit that you butchered it!” James calls in triumph. Sirius, apparently at a loss, sticks his tongue out in return before stalking off towards Hogsmeade proper. “Coming, Wormtail?”

“I - ” He hates visiting Remus just before Full. Remus, who is normally kind and patient can be brutally short-tempered and irritable on the day of the full moon. He can’t say that out loud though, and have James laugh at him. At the same time, he can’t come up with something he actually needs to do quickly enough. “I need to buy things, too.”

“Yes,” James agrees magnanimously. “You need to fetch back some lunch when you come to take your turn.”

“All – All right,” he stammers, having to run to catch up with Sirius.

“I thought you were going in with Prongs,” Sirius says, with poorly disguised disappointment that Peter has chosen to accompany Sirius instead.

“I need to - ”

“Three Broomsticks. Half one,” Sirius says, looking up at the clock tower of the Hogsmeade Town Hall. “You’ll need to take Prongs something to eat – can’t expect him to do all the Moony-sitting on an empty stomach.”

“I - ”

“Half one,” Sirius says again, as though he’s stupid. “Don’t be late.”

For all his insistence that Peter be punctual, it’s nearly half three by the time Sirius finally arrives at the Three Broomsticks, carrying an enormous plain, brown, paper shopping bag. Noticing Peter at one of the booths, Sirius crosses over to it.

“What are you doing still here?” Sirius asks, sounding surprised rather than angry. “You were supposed to relieve Prongs two hours ago!”

“You told me to meet you here for lunch,” he says. For some reason, Sirius _still_ doesn’t look annoyed.

“Did I?” Sirius asks, sounding still more surprised. “But what about Prongs? You’ve been to see him, haven’t you?” When he shakes his head, Sirius looks _amused_ of all things. “Oh dear, Wormtail. He’s likely to be most put out with you.”

“Black!”

Sirius turns calmly to face Lily. “Hello, Evans.”

“You wouldn’t know where Lupin is, would you?” Lily asks.

“At this precise second? No, I’m afraid I don’t,” Sirius says evenly. “Was there something you wanted?”

“Not exactly,” Lily says, colour starting to rise into her cheeks although her tone of voice remains off-hand.

_Maybe James was right, and she fancies Remus after all._

“Secret Prefect’s business?” Sirius taunts lazily.

“Nothing of the sort. It’s simply that I haven’t seen either him or Potter today,” she continues.

“Well…” Sirius starts to say.

Lily interrupts with, “Let him know I asked after him, won’t you.”

“Oh certainly,” Sirius says, sounding not at all nonplussed that she’s showing so much interest in Remus over James. “I’ll let James know you asked after him, too,” Sirius adds, as she turns away. To his surprise, she turns and grins at Sirius before returning to her table.

“She _did not_ ask after James,” he accuses, once she is out of earshot.

“Oh yes she did,” Sirius says, sounding smug. “Very casually, too, didn’t want to come straight out and say it. I told him subtle was the way to do it.”

“Really? You think she might give him a go?”

“Definitely. I’d give it at least another term, but definitely.” He’s about to ask Sirius something else, when the other boy takes a single-minded interest in the menu chalked above the bar, passes him a handful of sickles and wheedles, “Wormtail, be a mate and fetch us some lunch.”

He pushes through the other students to get to the bar, only to have Madam Rosmerta tell him that it’s well after two o’clock which is when the kitchen shuts, but they’re welcome to stay for dinner – which won’t be served until half five.

Pushing through the other students again to get back, he almost walks into a tall, dark haired woman standing at their table. She’s addressing Sirius, and he tries to maintain some distance so he doesn’t overhear their conversation, but it’s hard to do given the press of students behind him.

“…said you were pretty, never thought you’d be prettier than me,” she’s saying. He can’t see either of their faces from here, because she has her back turned to him and she’s blocking his view of Sirius. _And Sirius’ view of me_, he thinks, as he tries not to appear too obvious in his eavesdropping.

“It’s kind of you to say so,” Sirius says smoothly.

“Oh, I’m not saying it out of kindness,” she says with a laugh. “There’s someone I want you to split up with. I think you know who I mean.”

_**I** don’t know who you mean_, he thinks. He didn’t know that Sirius was seeing anybody. _Not that he’d ever tell me if he was_, he realises, wondering why it should come as a surprise.

Peter is certain that Sirius is the most experienced of the four of them, but the other boy is remarkably discreet when it comes to his girlfriends, probably so as not to damage the reputations of the girls in question. Pure-blood families as old as the Blacks take a dim view of those sorts of shenanigans before marriage.

_Probably even after marriage, too. Say what you like about the House of Black, but nobody could ever accuse them of being radical._

“Why should I do that?” Sirius asks, with a hint of demand.

_Still… How is it she knows who Sirius is going out with when we don’t?_

She moves to stand over him, and he can see the expression on Sirius’ face now. If anyone could combine boredom and defiance, it would be Sirius. He can get a better look at her now, too. He’s startled to see how old she is – she must be nearly thirty, if not older.

“Well, I’m jealous for one thing. I don’t see why I should have to share.” _Jealous_? “I was first, after all.” _If she was first… Padfoot can’t have **slept** with her… can he? _

“That’s not my fault,” Sirius says with a graceful shrug. “You should take it up with - ” Sirius stops as he sees Peter. The woman turns around as well, giving him a smile. He resists the urge to give both of them a small wave.

“Shall we continue this conversation upstairs? I can reserve a private room,” she says, loud enough for him to hear.

“No! I’ve nothing to - ” Sirius stops as she leans forward to whisper in his ear. Whatever it is she says, he must agree, because he nods curtly, and she makes her way up the stairs of the Inn. “You and Prongs don’t wait for me, all right? I don’t know how long I’ll be,” Sirius says, giving him a quick smile.

_I don’t believe it_, he thinks, aware that his mouth is open as he watches Sirius disappear up the steps. _Sirius and…who the hell is **she**, anyway?_

He can hear the murmurs behind him, as he gathers his things and leaves. _No food to be had at the Three Broomsticks. Better stop by Honeydukes, then_. That’ll prevent James from sulking at him for showing up empty handed, if nothing else. And he needs to replenish his stock of Fudge Flies.

“I hear it’s you we can thank for Marlene’s recovery,” someone says. He turns from paying for his sweets to see Bronwyn Harris addressing him. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but Lily was starting to get fed up with having to help her to the bathroom every time she needed to be sick,” she continues, pulling a face. “I wanted to ask you why you thought to use cat-fern in the antidote.”

_Er…I thought to use it because Padfoot said he thought there might have been Mandrake leaves in the potion, and cat-fern is one of the only ingredients that can neutralise that and I’m not supposed to know how Padfoot knew there **might** have been Mandrake leaves in the potion…_

“Want to get a drink?” he asks instead, opening the door for her and following her out onto the street. “I could explain the whole process from start to finish,” he adds, wondering what the best way will be to keep Sirius’ involvement out the story.

He tells himself it’s so that nobody guesses how involved Sirius was with the drug, and not because Bronwyn is likely to be more impressed knowing he did it on his own than if she knows he had help.

The Three Broomsticks is not conducive to quiet conversation, however. If anything, the level of chatter in the Three Broomsticks is even more than it was when he left. Lily Evans glares at him as he enters.

“ – kept telling you he’s a filthy pig,” Lily is saying sympathetically to Marlene as he approaches. “Might be for the best if you left it alone.”

“Have you seen Sirius?” he asks politely, noticing too late that Marlene is slightly red-eyed.

“Yes,” Lily says shortly. “He left here five minutes ago, but I don’t know where he’s got to, and frankly I don’t care.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” he says, not sure what he’s apologising for. He can sense Bronwyn shifting from foot to foot behind him.

Lily’s expression loses some of its anger. “It’s not your fault, really. The way he treats women… Someone ought to say something to him about it,” she says firmly, as though delegating the task to him.

“What’s he done?” he asks, feeling lost.

“Do you mind, Pettigrew?” Marlene says pointedly. Her voice is lacking its usual acerbity, though. “I’m trying to speak with Lily.”

“Sorry,” he says again, still not sure what he’s apologising for, or what he’s supposed to be lecturing Sirius on.

“Do you still want to get a - ” he starts to ask Bronwyn.

“I would,” she says earnestly. “I really would, but I should make sure Marlene’s all right.”

He sighs, giving up and cursing Sirius mentally, when he bumps into Davin Gudgeon. It seems that the rest of the Gryffindor Team don’t have the same aversion to the Three Broomsticks that James does.

“It’s all part of the Black charm, isn’t it?” Davin Gudgeon says, grinning widely despite the fact that one of his eyes has been blacked out.

“You haven’t been messing about with the Willow again, have you?” That’s the last thing they need on a full moon night. _Although you’d think Gudgeon would have learned his lesson since he nearly lost an eye last time._

“What, this?” Gudgeon says, indicating his blackened eye. “No, it was Rita. I asked her if she wanted to ‘reserve a private room’ upstairs like Black and his bird, and she punched me in the eye. Like I said, it’s all part of the Black charm, isn’t it? I suppose that’s what comes of being able to shag a bird to the point where she can’t remember her own name.”

“Sirius actually _slept_ with her?” he says, trying to sound inquisitive rather than thoroughly scandalised. If he were caught doing the same thing, his mother would _kill_ him.

“Of course he did, Pettigrew!” Gudgeon says, sounding far too amused. _Just because you’ve all but convinced Morphew to spread for you_, he thinks angrily, _doesn’t mean you need to be so bloody patronising to the rest of us_. He looks over to where Bronwyn is speaking with Marlene and Lily, willing her to look up at him.

“She came staggering down the stairs with love-bites all around her neck,” Gudgeon continues, oblivious. “It’s not as though they were playing cards, or something. I heard Rosier ask her if she wanted to go back upstairs, only this time with him, and she just stared at him. Blissed out. That was when I thought I’d see if Morphew was game and… I still can’t believe she hit me.”

“Where _is_ Morphew, anyway?” he says, looking around for the Chaser.

“No idea,” Gudgeon says glumly.

“Did you see where Sirius went?”

“Why, do you think they might have snuck off together?” Gudgeon asks, frowning slightly. “Wouldn’t put it past either of them,” he adds bitterly. “Good thing we probably won’t need the practice over the Easter Break. Last thing I need is those two sneaking off somewhere private, right under my nose.”

Wishing Gudgeon all the best in his dealings with Morphew, he takes off for the Shack, reasoning that it’s a quarter to four, and he won’t have long to spend with Remus before it’s time to start back. _And get our bloody names marked off_, he thinks.

“…find out what Evans is getting up to,” he can hear James saying, as he makes his way through the door.

“Hello Wormtail” Remus says pleasantly.

“Right, I’m off then Moony. See you later tonight,” James says, giving them a vague wave and starting to make his way out.

“It’s almost time for the lot of you to go back to school,” Remus says, looking tired. “Was Padfoot planning on making a visit at all? I was expecting him after lunch.”

“Haven’t seen him since this morning,” James shrugs easily. “Then again, I’ve spent nearly all day here, haven’t I? No offence, Moony,” James says, turning to glare at Peter, “but there is such a thing as working together, eh?”

“I brought you sweets from Honeydukes. They’d shut the kitchen at the Three Broomsticks by the time I got there,” he admits sheepishly.

“What were you doing, trying to bring me food from _there_?”

“I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with their food,” Remus says with an amused look.

“The rest of the team all ate there,” he says, wary of James’ frown. “They’ll be fine, Gudgeon was even saying he doesn’t think we’ll need to practise over the Break.”

“What’s this?” Remus says, frowning and sitting up straighter.

“There’s a practice for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team at Prongs’ place over the Break,” he says.

“You’re welcome to come too, Moony,” James says, sounding rushed. Remus gives him a steady look, his mouth set in a thin, unhappy line. “I _was_ going to mention it.”

“Right,” Remus says, with a too-bright smile, giving one of the pillows an unnecessary smack and settling back onto it. “I’m going to have a nap before tonight. If you see Padfoot, tell him he needn’t to stop by.”

“We’ll keep him away, if we run into him,” James promises, sounding relieved to be able to change the subject. “Have you seen him about, Wormtail?”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t worry, Moony. I’m pretty sure he got off with some girl at the Three Broomsticks, so we might not see him at all,” he says, grinning. James makes a sound of disbelief. “No lie, Prongs. She was _gorgeous_.”

Remus claws his way upright, sounding strangled as he says, “He’d throw me over for a sodding _girl_?”

“I wouldn’t take it seriously, mate,” James says, grinning from ear to ear. “He’s never let it keep him from turning up here before, has he?”

“No,” he allows, since Sirius has never let them down before. “Actually, I heard he’d already sent her on her way. With love bites all down her throat.” It’s rare to have James and Remus hanging on his words like this, so he finds himself adding, “…after fucking her so hard she couldn’t remember her own name.”

“He really is a dog,” James says admiringly.

“You don’t even know if it’s true,” Remus says scornfully, still twisting about to find a comfortable spot on the bed.

“No, I was there,” he insists, and revels at having Remus and James’ full attention again. “At the Three Broomsticks, she just walked up to him, and asked him upstairs.”

“How do you know - ”

“I was at Honeydukes talking with Harris,” he says, blushing slightly, because it sounds so _childish_ that one of them talked with a girl in a sweetshop while the other one of them took a girl upstairs and shagged her senseless, “and we only got back to the Broomsticks after Sirius left. Gudgeon told me all about it, though. _Everyone_ was talking about it.”

“Everyone!”

“And we’re the last to know,” Remus says, with a slightly wry smile.

“I heard Lily tell Marlene that Sirius was a filthy pig and she was to stay away from him.”

“He really is a filthy pig, treating people like that. Was she anyone we know?” Remus asks insistently.

“No, I’ve never seen her before,” he says.

“That makes sense. He’d be on his second lap of Hogwarts already, if he limited himself to the students,” James says.

“Gudgeon thinks Padfoot might’ve got off with Morphew, too,” he adds. He wasn’t sure whether to mention it or not, since he’s still not sure whether or not it’s true.

“_What_? Morphew’s been going out with Gudgeon for _months_,” James says, in disbelief. He’s relieved to see that Remus, at least, looks less disbelieving. “There’s no way he could have shagged Morphew.”

The door creaks open behind them.

“No way _who_ could have shagged Morphew?”


	19. April 1977 (Remus)

Peter seems to jump out of his skin as Sirius enters from behind.

“Perhaps the two of you should go and get something to eat,” he says, amazed at how steady his voice is. “You and Wormtail,” he continues, addressing James for the moment. “Padfoot’ll keep me company for bit, won’t you Padfoot?”

It’s not a question.

“It’s nearly four,” Peter says, frowning slightly. “We’ll have to start back soon if we’re to make it by five.”

_Where’s my smile_, he thinks, as Sirius sweeps his gaze over the three of them. Of late, Sirius has _always_ greeted him with a smile, and its absence just now makes his stomach hurt.

_Is that why you didn’t want to be here with me today? Because you had plans to meet someone else? Who was she_?

“Hang on,” James says, making a stalling gesture with one hand and opening his mouth to question Sirius, saving Remus the indignity.

_You can’t have done it_, he pleads desperately inside his head. Of course, it would be just his luck that on the same month he made it through the night before without sex, Sirius would wake up the morning after and decide he didn’t want to be with Remus anymore. _What did you do to her, what did she do to **you**, do you like her better than me, you **must** have liked her better than me if you fucked her, because you won’t even - _

“Saw Evans at the Broomsticks,” Sirius says, before James can say anything further. “Hard to get’s one thing – playing impossible to get isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

James blinks, but perseveres. “You - ”

“She asked after you,” Sirius adds, and it’s probably only in Remus’ imagination that Sirius sounds impatient. “If you want, I’ll meet you at the main gate at half four, after you’ve spoken with her.”

“Want me to wait for you?” Peter asks, clearly torn over whether he should follow after James – who doesn’t need telling twice when it comes to Evans, and is already striding out – or stay with Sirius.

“No,” Sirius replies with an easy smile directed entirely at Remus. “I won’t be long.”

He doesn’t know what expression he has on his face but when Peter looks at him, the younger boy doesn’t bother to say goodbye, simply squeaks something unintelligible and races after James.

For a long moment, he and Sirius simply stare at one another, each waiting for the other to say something.

“Have we split up, then,” he says, forcing a quick smile because he half hopes that Sirius will deny it.

“Seems that way,” Sirius says shortly, striding over to the bed and retrieving his cloak. A quick flick of Sirius’ wand spells it clean before he flips it over his shoulders.

_What, that’s **it**? You’re not even going to tell me why, or who she was, or admit to… Do you have any **idea** what I went through last night_? His cock is still sore – a dull, incessant ache between his legs, reminding of everything he wouldn’t let it do last night.

He should be grateful, perhaps, that the only person who knows about his humiliation – apart from himself – is Sirius. Grateful that neither James nor Peter know what he and Sirius are to one another.

_Were._

“Who was she?” he calls, catching Sirius before he reaches the door.

“I beg your pardon?” Sirius says icily, spinning around to face him, his cloak swirling about his slender body. “Who was who?”

For a moment, he wants to recoil or cower in shock. This isn’t his precious, perfect Sirius anymore. This is the heir to the House of Black staring him down, but he is _damned_ if he’s about to let the other boy get away with treating him like this.

“Oh, I’m sorry, do we need to narrow it down further?” he asks, trying to match Sirius’ tone.

_I was so **good**_, he thinks helplessly, watching Sirius frown at him silently, _I played by your stupid rules, I’ve been so patient, I **suffered** last night, and you let someone else have you first_?

“Who was the girl at the Broomsticks,” he says crisply, “that you – what were Wormtail’s exact words? – took upstairs, gave a hundred hickeys to, and fucked so hard she could barely remember her own name? What was _her_ name?”

“I’ve no idea, since we weren’t properly introduced,” Sirius says, enunciating so clearly that his consonants fall into place like doors being slammed. “Perhaps I should be asking you, anyway. You were the one who fucked her last night.”

“What?”

“I came here last night to make sure you were all right and you told me to leave, that you wanted to sleep. But you didn’t, did you? You went to see her, instead.”

_Miranda? How did she find you?_ “I didn’t sleep with her last - ”

“Are you sure? Because she seems to think that you did. She was very emphatic, said that you’d been sleeping with her for ages, and that I was to split up with you so she could have you to herself. I’ve seen her before, too, at the Club. Can’t remember her name, but the rest of your friends were all interested in what her reaction would be to your ‘new boyfriend’. Want to know what her reaction was?”

“I - ” How can things turn so quickly from his feeling as though Sirius has betrayed him to having to defend himself from Sirius’ accusations? _What was I thinking? There was no truth to anything Peter said, he got it wrong, Sirius would **never**, not to anybody._

“She kept calling me your pet. Your ‘pretty, purebred pet’, if I recall correctly. That was when she wasn’t ordering me to split up with you, or threatening to tell my family about the two of us. That’s right,” Sirius says, taking in the horrified look on his face. “Charming girl, she was. And when I told her my family already knew,” – Alphard does, at any rate – “well, she didn’t like that all. Launched herself at me, and I had to push her away. Left bruises all down one side of her throat - ”

_…lovebites all down her throat…_

“ – and then I _obliviated_ her, and shoved her out of the room.”

_…couldn’t even remember her own name…_

“You _obliviated_ her?” he says incredulously, horrified as always at the violence of Sirius’ responses to perceived threats.

“It was the kindest thing to do,” Sirius says with a taunting smile. “Better that than having her presenting that sort of accusation to Mother.”

_Better for **you**_, he wants to say, but stops himself. He can well imagine how Cassiopeia Black would respond to such an accusation about her son.

“So this way,” Sirius continues calmly, “she doesn’t know anything about the two of us and she and you can pick up where you left off. I only wish _I_ could forget about the last - ”

“Don’t say that!” he says fiercely, his hands curling into fists over his bedspread. _I don’t want to forget anything of the last four months. If I lose you now, all I’ll have **left** are the memories_. “If she wanted you to split up with me, did it ever occur to you that she might have been lying about what happened last night?”

Sirius’ jaw tightens, but when he speaks, it is to say, “What happened then, last night?” in a sing-song voice.

“I _did_ see her yesterday, but it was only to talk to her about what I already told her at the Hydra that night. I went to see her, to say that it was over but that’s _all_.”

“Last _night_?” Sirius says, sounding stunned as realisation hits. “You were only going to tell her it was over last _night_? We’ve been together for four months! What the fuck were you… You’ve been breaking up with me to go and see her, haven’t you? Just before Full, when you’re off the school grounds and able to Apparate to wherever - ”

“Would you let me finish?”

“Why should I?” Sirius snaps. “You were ready to believe I’d fucked her just now, why should I believe _you_ when you - ”

“Nothing happened last night, all right?

“What about the rest of the year? What about the last two full moons? She only came after me today because it wasn’t over for her before last night, was it?”

“Padfoot - ”

“_Was it_?” There is nothing he can say to that, and Sirius knows it. “How long have you and she…”

“Just over a year and a half,” he says softly. Watching Sirius flinch, he realises as he says it that he is more scared of losing the other boy than hurting him, and he’s not sure what that makes him.

“Every full moon?”

“The night before. Sometimes the one before that, as well.”

“Does she know you’re a werewolf?”

“No,” he says. He’s certain she doesn’t – if she did, she would have said something. Sirius gives him another disbelieving look, and he elaborates, “You know girls have a cycle of their own, stretched over twenty-eight days. Once a month, they’re at their most fertile.” _And randy_. “She thought I was the one doing her a favour. Anyway,” he continues, seeing Sirius’ expression darken, “last night I told her it was over, and we didn’t have sex.”

“You didn’t go there because you wanted to have sex?” Sirius asks.

“No, I didn’t,” he lies. “I didn’t split up with you, Padfoot. I didn’t want things to be over between us. I still don’t.” Even if it was his intention when he left Hogsmeade, he couldn’t bring himself to go through with it once he got to her place, and surely that was what mattered? “You’re the only one I want. I know that, now.”

He says the words warmly, but Sirius’ expression doesn’t soften.

“You wanted to. While you were there.” It isn’t a question.

_Yes. Desperately_. “No.”

“So _nothing happened_?” Sirius asks mockingly.

_I was so close, **so close**, I wanted to so much, but I thought of you and I couldn’t do it…_ “No, nothing.”

God, but he’s _sore_, and he still has to transform tonight. He’ll be lucky if he can move about tomorrow, regardless of what Pomfrey forces down his throat.

“Did she try to make you - ”

“No,” he says again, trying not to think of the way she stripped his clothes away and pressed herself up against him, knowing full well what it would do to him. Knowing full well what he would want to do to her.

“All right, so you didn’t fuck,” Sirius continues crisply, as if ticking things off an imaginary list. “Did you do anything else?”

“I told you, Padfoot,” he says. “All we did was talk, I promise.”

“Was she naked when you arrived? Or did she make herself naked for you?” He really wishes Sirius would stop talking, now. The words – _accusations_ – are hypnotically arousing, and he’s starting to lose himself in the sound of the other boy’s voice, whispering those filthy things to him. “Were you naked for her?”

“I told you - ”

“Tell me again. Swear it.”

“I _swear_ Padfoot,” he says fervently, trying to sound as sincere as he can and _not_ to picture Miranda naked. “All we did was talk. Fully clothed,” he adds testily.

“She gave me these to give back to you,” Sirius continues, still in the same mocking tone, as he hands Remus the pants that he left behind at Miranda’s flat when he was racing to get dressed and get out of there before he did anything he’d regret.

Again, it isn’t funny, but he wants to laugh hysterically.

_Oh, God, I didn’t tell you the truth because I didn’t want to hurt you and now it’s going to hurt **me**_.

“Padfoot - ”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Sirius says, all tight, controlled fury. “We’re through, all right? I’ll show myself out.”

“No,” he says, forcing himself out of the bed and after Sirius before the other boy can walk out on him forever. “Please,” he begs, “don’t go. Not like this.”

“No? You were only too eager to get rid of me last night. What were your exact words, Moony? Something about how you wanted me to leave you alone so you could sleep?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he says desperately, his voice begging Sirius to believe him.

“Didn’t you? Well that’s charming, Moony. What a shame you changed your mind after I left. If you want to hurt me further, I can wait until the same time next month, and _you_ can split up with _me_ if you like. I might even be able to squeeze out a few tears.”

“Do you know how hard this is for me?” he whispers, his eyes searching Sirius’ face for a sign that the other boy will at least hear him speak before storming out. “Do you have _any_ idea what this time of the month is like for me?”

“No, Moony I don’t,” Sirius replies, the ‘and I don’t care, either’ going unsaid. “As I recall, the last time it occurred to me that this time of the month might be difficult for you, you _laughed_ at me, and told me that not everything about you was linked to the moon.”

Lies inside lies, and all of it done, _every last bit of it_, done to keep from hurting Sirius. He wants to laugh at his own stupidity. _I was afraid if I told you the truth I’d lose you, and now I’m going to lose you anyway._

“Every month,” he says fervently, watching Sirius’ face, “just before Full, my body knows it has to transform. But it doesn’t know that it will transform _back_. That’s why I can’t keep food down before Full,” he says with sudden insight, latching onto something Sirius is already familiar with, and he’s relieved to see the other boy nod. “My body is screaming at me to run away before it dies - ”

“To run away from _itself?_”

“Yes. Stupid, isn’t it? But it’s terrified of the coming transformation and so anything I try to eat or drink just before Full gets vomited back up. That’s why I’m starving as soon as I transform, why you and Prongs have to work so hard to keep me away from Hogsmeade. Same as when I transform back – you’ve seen the number of breakfast trays that get sent over from the kitchens. I share them with the three of you but I could just as easily eat the whole lot myself.”

It sounds for a moment as though Sirius made a soft, sympathetic murmur in his throat, but it must be his imagination because when he looks up, Sirius’ face gives nothing away.

“For the same reason,” he says, not at all encouraged by Sirius’ reactions, “I need sex the night before Full for as long as the moon is up. I stay hard unti- un_less_ I get it, because my body is convinced that this is the last night it has, and wants to leave a part of itself behind.”

He discussed it with his dad after the second month it happened. Patrice Lupin studies all kinds of creatures – magical and otherwise – and developed a specialisation in werewolves after his only son was infected. It was after his dad explained it, using the words, ‘you see this reaction in a lot of animals, rutting madly after they’ve been bitten by a snake or ingest some other poison, when they know they’re about to die’ that he realised that he could never think of himself as completely human ever again.

He’s explained everything to Sirius, laid himself bare, and so it comes as a shock when Sirius doesn’t forgive him and take him back, when Sirius instead says, “See, it _is_ for the best that we split up.”

“Wha- _What_?”

“I can’t give you what you want, Moony,” Sirius says impatiently. “If it’s children your body wants, then - ”

“What are you on about? I don’t want bloody children,” he says, amazed that Sirius somehow reached this conclusion.

“Don’t you?” For the first time, that indifferent, ‘sod you’ expression shifts as Sirius gives him a puzzled look. “What are you doing fucking girls when they’re at their most fertile, then?”

_When they’re at their most… Oh, Jesus._

_Was_ Miranda pregnant? How soon after sex did it happen? A week? A month? Two? Were girls still – what was the word – _ovulating_ when they were pregnant? Or was that why she let him go so easily last night, because she was pregnant and wasn’t ovulating and didn’t need sex, and oh sweet _fuck_ but this is the last thing he needs…

_You’ve turned into your dad_, he can hear his mum’s voice scolding in his head. _Getting girls pregnant without marrying them. Are you going to leave her pregnant and penniless, the way your father left me?_

“Moony?” For a moment, he almost forgot Sirius was there with him. _Pregnant! How long does it take to be certain_? “Don’t you agree?”

“No,” he breathes fervently, “I _don’t_. I want to be with you, I want to fix this.”

“You don’t want to be with me,” Sirius says, sounding exhausted and impatient and defeated all at once. “If you did, you wouldn’t have gone to see her last night.”

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to stay hard the whole night without being able to come? You always come in fifteen seconds, so you’ve no idea, do you?” There is a blush staining Sirius’ cheeks and he’s absurdly glad for it. “Want me to show you? Even five minutes is torture, wanting to come desperately and not being able to. And there are things we can use to stretch it out for even longer than that.”

“In your filthy dreams, Lupin,” Sirius exhales harshly, putting a hand out to shove past him, but Remus has had enough and shoves Sirius back against the wall, determined that the other boy hear him out.

“You’ve no idea what it’s like for me,” he starts, but he doesn’t get any further because Sirius does something with his fingers, working them along Remus’ arms and down to his hands, and all of a sudden there is so much pain in his wrists, and when he looks down at them, there are rings of red bruises starting to form around each wrist.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Sirius says viciously, pushing free of the wall and moving to stand at the doorway. “No, I’ve no idea what it’s like but only because you won’t let me understand. You _lie_ to me, and keep things from me, and never explain anything.”

“What about _you_ then,” he screams, because his hands hurt so much. _Is this what you did to Miranda? Is this how she got those **love bites** down her throat?_ “What was so important you had to do it today rather than visit me here?”

“That’s none of your -”

“Don’t give me that! If you’d stayed with me as you should have done, Miranda would never have found you to threaten you.”

“I’d never have found out you’d been going behind my back all year, you mean!”

“And when were you going to tell me,” he continues, ignoring the accusation, “that you were going to spend the Break at the Potters’?”

Sirius barely blinks, responding, “When it became true,” in an infuriatingly unruffled tone of voice. “I said I’d write to your mother on Sunday – tomorrow – after the game. I was only going to be at Prongs’ place over the Break if we lost tomorrow, but I’ll tell you what, Moony. If it bothers you so much, I can write to her right now and tell her the answer’s no.”

“Why was Wormtail invited? Since when is he part of the Team?”

“Wormtail was only invited this morning,” Sirius says, frowning.

“And me? What about me?”

“I can’t invite you to Prongs’ place! That’s up to him,” Sirius says unconvincingly. As though James doesn’t follow Sirius’ lead when it comes to almost everything.

“You were _never_ going to invite me,” he says with bitter certainty. “Prongs only did because Wormtail mentioned it in front of me. Otherwise I was never going to know about it. God, it’s always bloody Quidditch with you, isn’t it? Why is it all right for you to divide your time up between other people, but not for me? If Peter and James aren’t in the dorm with us, you’re off playing Quidditch, or helping your little brother with something, or attending to one of the ten thousand other things you always seem to put before me.”

“Indeed,” Sirius says smoothly, and he just _knows_ the other boy is going to use that as his cue to leave, and Remus can’t bear it. _What if you really mean it? What if you won’t take me back, or forgive me? I’d never get to kiss you again, or see you naked again, or touch you again…_

“Please,” he says again. “Don’t go. I want to work this out. I want to be with you. Remember your birthday, the day we spent in London?” Sirius looks away. “I want more of that. I want more days like that and I want them with _you_.”

“Well, we all want things we can’t have, don’t we?”

“Do we?” he asks, ignoring the tone of Sirius’ question, and its obvious rhetoric. “Do _you_?” he prods softly. Sirius glares at him and reaches for the door. “No, of course you don’t,” he says slightly more loudly, tauntingly. “You’re Sirius Black, you always get what you want, usually handed to you on a silver platter at someone else’s expense.”

“No one’s handed me anything in my life!” Sirius says furiously, and again he shouldn’t be pleased at eliciting such a reaction out of the other boy, but anything is better than that cold, haughty mask. “You don’t know what it’s like for _me_.”

“Oh yes, it must be quite the trial, being the heir to a rich and powerful House, with relatives who’ll indulge your every whim, and - ”

“You don’t know _anything_,” Sirius says, visibly pulling himself together. “I’ve had to _earn_ everything I’ve ever been given, and there’s not one thing I have, not _one single thing_, that they can’t take back or confiscate or destroy if I misbehave, or if Regulus shows me up, or…”

For some reason, his memory goes back to second year, when Sirius and James were given a week’s worth of detention for some asinine prank. James received a Howler the next day, and said he was going onto the pitch to get the sound of his father’s yelling out of his head. He then looked expectantly at Sirius to join him, but Sirius said that his broomstick was being repaired, which was odd because he hadn’t mentioned it giving him any trouble before then. Looking back on it now, he can only remember Sirius having his broomstick again after he got top marks in Potions and in Charms.

“I imagine I must be the envy of everybody else,” Sirius says with heavy sarcasm, “having to wait for people I love to die before I’ve anything to call my own.”

“At least you know what the rules are. At least your family _plays_ by the rules.” Brutal though they might be. “Reward for good behaviour. Punishment for bad,” he says evenly. “I didn’t do anything wrong last night, Padfoot. Why are you punishing me?” Sirius looks away, again. “You still haven’t answered my question. I asked you months ago, and again, just now. What is it you want, Padfoot?”

Sirius shoves past him, towards the door. “That’s none of your - ”

“It _is_,” he says firmly, reaching for the door and leaning his weight against it, preventing Sirius from opening it. His wrist twinges as he shifts his hand against the door. “Hex me again, if you want,” he says calmly, watching Sirius turn away from him. “Every time I ask you what it is you want me to do, or to tell me how to please you, you either change the subject or refuse to answer me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sirius says softly. “It’s over anyway.”

“If it doesn’t matter,” he says, “then you lose nothing by telling me.”

It’s true, he realises as he says it. Sirius seems determined to end it, and come Monday, they’ll probably go back to just being friends, the way they were before New Year’s Eve, before he glimpsed the other, softer side of Sirius, the side only _he_ got to see. Sirius will go back to spending all of his time with James, and they’ll spend all of their time together either on the pitch or taunting Slytherins.

And Remus will go back to, alternately, ‘helping’ – which means listening and telling them how clever they are – or being a responsible Prefect – which means having the presence of mind to maintain plausible deniability, while leaving them to it.

It will mean going back to studying on his own, because Sirius and James can afford to waste most of the week hexing Slytherins or pranking the younger students and still get better marks than Remus in all of the end of week tests. It never seems to matter that he will have studied ten times as hard as the two of them put together.

The Transfiguration tutoring was all a sham to get Sirius to himself more often, but even when they couldn’t steal away somewhere private, he loved the fact that he had Sirius’ complete attention, that the two of them were working on something together, even if it _was_ something as tedious as Arithmancy charts.

Which reminds him that he still has to prepare for the test the rest of them sat on Friday afternoon, and won’t have Sirius to help him. Given that he’ll never have that same, easy intimacy with Sirius ever again, it probably _doesn’t_ matter, whatever Sirius’ reasons are. It won’t change anything, but at least he’ll know.

“You use me to get off,” Sirius says simply.

He’s not sure how to respond to that. Certainly, he adores being with Sirius, adores kissing and touching the other boy, rubbing against him, sending searching fingers through the gaps of his robes and finding him, stroking him, bringing him to orgasm, sucking him and tasting him and swallowing him, but…

“No,” he says, shaking his head angrily. “That’s not true. What about the day we spent in London? We spent the day out and about in the city. If all I wanted to do was shag you, I’d have booked us a room in a cheap inn on Music Alley and had my wicked way with you,” he spits. That one outing almost wiped out his savings for the term, and if Sirius really thought he’d done it for no other reason than to get into his pants…

“You took me to the Club so you could show off to your stupid friends that you got off with _Alfie’s_ nephew,” Sirius says stubbornly. “That friend of yours, Spencer, wrote to me and warned me you’d try to use me like that.” The bottom of his stomach literally _drops_. “I was going to write back to him, to tell him you would never, but I’m not so certain now.”

“Yes, I took you to show you off,” he says, furious with Spencer for writing to Sirius and furious with Sirius for believing him. “Because I was proud of _you_, not your connection to Alphard. I wanted them all to know that someone as brilliant, and gorgeous, and clever as you was _my_ boyfriend. Why was that wrong? Why can’t I be proud of the fact that you’re my boyfriend? I want to be able to tell - ”

“I don’t care what you want! You asked me what _I_ want? I want you to stop playing with me, deciding one day you want to be with me, and then deciding the next that it’s too much work and you’d rather get off with a _girl_! I want a boyfriend who loves me and wants me and _only_ me!”

“Prongs,” he says softly, before he can stop himself. “It’s Prongs you’re saving yourself for, isn’t it?”

“This has got nothing to do with Prongs,” Sirius says loudly. _Too_ loudly. “I’m talking about _you_, you idiot! I want a boyfriend who loves me but instead I have a boyfriend who expects me to share him with some thick tart who carries his pants around in her handbag.”

“Well, I have to fucking share you, too,” he yells back, ignoring the jibe.

“What are you talking about? You don’t have to share me with anyone!”

“I’M TALKING ABOUT PRONGS!” he yells, amazed that Sirius can be this dense. “If you miss a class, he copies out notes for you. If you miss a meal, he fetches food from the kitchens for you. If you get into a duel, he protects your back. Same thing in Quidditch – any other Keeper would have been kicked off the team long ago for missing as many practices as you did, but not you. Not while _James_ is Captain. In fact, I bet that the only reason he changed to playing Seeker is because if he were still playing Chaser, he’d have to go up against you during training, and God _forbid_ that the rest of the world see one of you succeed at the expense of the other.”

“You’re jealous of _Prongs_?” Sirius exclaims in disbelief.

“I’m fed up with the amount of time you spend with him,” he says, remembering all over again the things that Sirius said to him yesterday morning. About how wonderful Remus was because he was patient and kind.

_Nobody_ would use those words to describe James Potter. James is dynamic, and athletic, and handsome, and clever, and funny – not _patient_ and _kind_ and _boring_. About as exciting as porridge. About as interesting as History of Magic.

“Moony, you’re being stupid. Prongs isn’t interested in me in that way,” Sirius says, appearing to have gathered himself somewhat, and refraining from yelling.

“Ah, but I see you don’t deny that _you_ might be interested in _him_ in that way,” he says triumphantly.

“For fuck’s sake, Moony, I am not interested in Prongs _in that way_ either.”

“Right, then you’ll have no objection to spending less time with him.”

“What do you want me to do, then? Start ignoring him?”

“I want you to quit the Quidditch Team.”

“It’s only like this until tomorrow,” Sirius says, which is a more positive sign than the simple ‘no way, fuck off’ that he was expecting. “There’ll be fewer practices next term. We’ll have more time together.”

“I want you to myself over the Break,” he says.

“You will if we win tomorrow.”

“And if you don’t? This isn’t _fair_,” he says, moving away from the door and stepping up close to Sirius. “You can’t ask me to give up everything and give me nothing in return.”

“You’ve made plans already, haven’t you?” Sirius asks. It’s the first non-hostile, non-indifferent thing Sirius has said to him all day. “Tell me about them.” _What’s the point_? “Moony,” Sirius breathes softly. “What do you want from me, Moony?” Sirius whispers. “Even if I quit the Quidditch Team, he’ll want to know why,” Sirius continues, stroking one of his hands gently along Remus’ face.

He follows after Sirius’ fingers with his lips, and he can see Sirius smiling as he moves his hand for Remus to chase. Finally, Sirius laughs softly, raising his hand over his head and when Remus lunges for it, he almost knocks the other boy over, and for a moment he’s certain that they can fix this, that they can make this work, because this is _Sirius_, and if he can make Sirius laugh, if he can convince Sirius to let him kiss him, then there is nothing that Sirius won’t forgive him.

“Perhaps,” he says, as they continue to giggle quietly, “perhaps we should tell him about the two of us.” The laughter dies immediately.

“No,” Sirius says curtly.

“We should tell him,” he repeats, equally harshly.

“Moony - ”

“What? Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t tell him about us, apart from the fact that you don’t want to,” he challenges.

“I _don’t_ want to,” Sirius says, sounding fed up.

“Because you’re afraid he might be jealous.”

“_Pardon_?”

“You’re saving yourself for him, aren’t you?” he says.

“I’m saving myself for someone who loves me,” Sirius says angrily.

“You were _my_ best friend first,” he says, not giving a damn how hysterical he sounds as long as he’s able to get through to Sirius. “Do you even remember that? At the start of our first year? You hated him, and we were best friends, and then when I was away for that first full moon, he took you away from me. He’s going to do it again, and you’re going to _let_ him.”

“I think you’re mistaking me for _you_,” Sirius says coldly. “I don’t go behind other people’s backs.”

“That’s why you’re ending things with me!” he says. “Because it’s all been about James fucking Potter all along. You’re my best friend, did you know that? My _best friend_, but I’m not yours. Why aren’t I yours? Why do you always put me last? You didn’t even tell me about going to Prongs’ place over the Break.”

“I am not in love with Prongs!” Sirius snaps. “For fuck’s sake, Moony, if he thought for one second that I felt that way about him, he would run screaming in the opposite direction. Yes, he _would_,” Sirius continues stubbornly, when Remus rolls his eyes in disbelief. “You saw how he reacted when Alphard invited him to London with you and I.”

How could he have forgotten? It had put Sirius in a strop for most of the afternoon, until Sirius realised that it meant that _they_ would be alone together.

“That’s why you don’t want to tell him?”

Sirius nods. “I’ve already lost my father. My brother isn’t speaking to me anymore, and my mother… I can’t lose him too, Moony.”

_What about **me**_, he wants to yell. It’s the story of his life, always being left behind by the boys who are cleverer, more talented and better looking. _Why don’t you care about losing **me**?_

“If you don’t tell him, I will.”

Sirius looks at him with wide, startled eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

He takes a deep breath and continues. “Tell James about the two of us, that we’re spending the Break together, that when we get back we’ll be spending more time alone together – and why – instead of just sneaking around. Or I will.”

“Prongs won’t believe you,” Sirius says quickly.

“He has no reason not to,” he bluffs. It hurts him to see Sirius like this, but he knows that it will hurt more to lose Sirius, and this way… “Or, say you’ll forgive me for last night.”

“Only if you say you’ll never do it again,” Sirius says, through clenched teeth.

_Only if **you** say you’ll let me fuck you before Full next month_. “No,” he says hoarsely, trapped in a web of promises and lies, and without the faintest clue as to how to unravel it without hurting one or both of them. “I can’t promise that.”

He hears footsteps clattering across the floor as Sirius pushes past him, and then the sound of the door, slamming shut.


	20. April 1977 (Sirius)

For the first time in his life, getting away from something is more important than maintaining dignity, and he tries not to think about what Remus can and can not hear as he runs along the hall and towards the main door of the Shack. By the time he has reached the bottom of the stairs, he has recovered himself a little.

Recovered enough not to look panicked or frightened when he lets himself out, onto the path back to Hogsmeade proper. Not enough to be able to return to the Shack tonight with the other two for Full. _Fuck Full_, he thinks savagely, slamming the gate behind him.

Racing towards the main gate, he can’t see any sign of Peter or James – or anyone else, for that matter. _What time is it, anyway?_ He lost track of what _year_ it was in the Shack with Remus, but glancing up at the clock tower over the Town Hall, he sees that it’s only just after half four.

If he walks quickly – the heir to the House of Black does not run – he might be able to make it back to the school grounds before five. It’s probably going to be Meadowes marking off names back at the school gate, and if he’s penitent enough, she might let him off with House points instead of preventing him from playing in tomorrow’s match.

_Idiot, stop worrying about the match and being late. There’re far more important things to worry about_. More important things like how he misread the situation with Remus so badly, to start with. _All hells, the things I did. The things I let **him** do_, he thinks trying not to shudder with the shame of it. _And it meant nothing to him, none of it did. He wouldn’t even promise that he wouldn’t go behind my back again._

More importantly… _He said he’d tell James_. He fights down a wave of nausea. _He won’t, he’s bluffing, he can’t…_

“Sirius!”

He has enough presence of mind not to waste time turning at the sound of that voice, enough sense to pretend he hasn’t heard, and enough sense to move off the main path, into the shadow of the surrounding woods. The moon hasn’t risen yet, but the dusky twilight is both sufficient for him to see where he is going, and to hide him.

“Sirius!”

_Go away_, he thinks desperately. _Not you, I can’t deal with you either, now_. He should be relieved that James and Peter have gone on ahead – he doesn’t want to have to speak to anybody else for a week. _A month. A year. Pity’s sake, I don’t care if I never speak to anyone again._

There are footsteps, crashing through the undergrowth, following determinedly after him. “Sirius!” Regulus shouts. For his younger brother to be running and shouting in public like the child he is, it has to be something important.

“What do you want?” he snaps, refusing to turn around, or quicken his pace in response.

“I just got back from London, Sirius. Sirius, Mother says she’ll do anything, as long as you come home.”

_Yes, I know that, Baby cat. So willing to do anything that she nearly poisoned me and two of my housemates to get me home._ “I don’t have time for this now, Regulus. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Sirius – ”

“The chocolate you gave me for my birthday. You knew what was in it when you gave it to me, didn’t you?” Regulus’ eyes widen momentarily, but he gives very little else away. “You did, _didn’t_ you?” he presses angrily.

“I wasn’t going to give it to you, but Potter - ”

“Because of a stupid prank? You almost poisoned two of my classmates!”

“You weren’t supposed to share it,” Regulus says calmly.

_No, I bet I wasn’t_. If he’d eaten the lot himself, there was no telling how much more strongly the spell would have pulled him. As it was, he’d barely been able to keep from seeking out Grimmauld Place like a Post Owl heading home.

“Anyway,” Regulus continues, as though it is of no consequence that the three of them were up for five nights retching and wishing they were dead. “She’s asked me to tell you that you have her permission.”

He blinks at Regulus. “To do what?”

“To enrol at the Academy. To study to be an Auror. But you have to come home.”

“What do you care whether or not I come home? You haven’t spoken to me since - ” He stops, because he’s being stupid. Asking the wrong questions. “Who is it that she’s making you marry?”

Regulus’ cheeks light up, and he knows he’s hit the mark.

“I hope the two of you register the wedding at Scheherezade’s,” he continues mildly. “I’ve had my eye on a silver tea service that would be simply perf- ”

“_Stop_ it,” Regulus shouts, sounding scared.

“Who’s the lucky girl?”

“The Princess’ daughter,” Regulus says bitterly.

“Andromeda doesn’t have a daughter,” he says, frowning and thinking guiltily of Alphard’s letter, that he’s yet to open and read.

“She was born a few weeks ago. I wasn’t at home when it happened, obviously, but every ward in the house rang like a bell as she drew her first breath.”

“Congratulations, then. I’m sure you’ll make a lovely coupl- ”

“_She’s just been born_,” Regulus screams at him, his hands balling into fists.

“Yes, but if it’s what Mother wants, I suppose you’ll have to do it willingly or unwillingly and then ask for a reward afterward, won’t you?”

“Come home,” Regulus says intently.

“What, so I can marry her instead? It’s tempting, it really is, but - ”

“You’ll never be an Auror unless you do.”

_I’ll never be an Auror if Remus tells anybody else what I let him do to me._

“Oh please,” he sneers, trying to disguise his fear. “It’s one thing to _permit_ me to study at the Academy if I return home, but how is she going to prevent me from enrolling at the Academy if I don’t come home?”

“The new powers for Aurors,” Regulus says impatiently, as though he really is impossibly dense. “She’ll vote against it.”

“You’re the one who has to cast her vote,” he says shrewdly. “Are you telling me you’d vote against too?” Regulus looks away, refusing to meet his eye. “You fucking _coward_! You don’t have to do anything she says, you don’t even have to vote how she tells you, but you’re too pathetic to think for yourself!”

If he had any strength left, he’d draw his wand and hex his brother.

“It won’t do any good even if I do,” Regulus says, watching Sirius reach for his wand. “She’ll just tell the Academy that - ”

Regulus stops talking at the sound of footsteps behind them, clattering along the path.

“You go on ahead, Rosier. I’m sure I heard voices off the path.” It is one of the Prefects, rounding up the last of the students to ensure that everyone is back to the Castle in time for Meadowes to mark names. Regulus goes pale at the sound of Snivellus’ voice.

“Here,” he tells Regulus urgently. “James and Peter are further along the road. They can’t have made it back to the grounds yet.” Unwrapping his scarf, he hands it to his brother. “They’ll think you’re me.”

Remus never has any trouble telling them apart, and even James and Peter are better at telling which is Sirius and which Regulus, but if Regulus is dressed like a Gryffindor, they’ll see what he wants them to see.

Perhaps if he does this for Regulus, he’ll be able to talk his brother around later on.

_Idiot. Haven’t you learned anything? Caring about others is just an invitation for them to hurt you as deeply as they can._

“But how will you - ”

“Let me worry about that. _Go_.” Regulus takes the scarlet and gold scarf and flees, just as Snivellus steps off the path and into the woods.

“What are you doing out here, Black?” the other boy sneers at him.

“I could ask you the same thing, Snivellus,” he says, more calmly than he feels. He’s not prepared to turn his back on the Slytherin, but he’s not about to waste time posturing when he needs to be back onto the school grounds before five.

“I’m chasing the last of the stragglers back to the Castle, Black. What about you?”

_I am the last of the stragglers, you filthy…_

“I misplaced my wand,” he says offhandedly. The speed with which Snivellus brings his own wand up to point at him is almost dizzying. _Dizzyingly predictable. Git_. Sirius draws his wand and holds it protectively in front of him. _Regretting sending Rosier on ahead, now, aren’t you?_

Rosier is one of the only students in his year that can match him in duelling. James and Snivellus are closely matched to one another, but he knows he can beat both of them. _If Rosier comes back, though…_

“I found it again, though,” he continues, watching Snivellus grit his teeth. “So now I’m off back to the Castle. I’ll leave you to make sure all the students make it back, shall I?”

The other boy follows after him, though. _Am I going to have to walk backwards the whole way to the Castle?_

“Oh, I’ll be sure to do just that, Black,” Snivellus sneers. “All I can say is you’d better make it back to the Castle before five o’clock.” Snivellus checks his watch with sarcastic care. “And look – it’s a quarter to, already. You’d best run hadn’t you?”

He’s damned if he’s going to run – let alone run _backwards_ – for anybody, and he certainly doesn’t intend to start for Snivellus. Walking backwards is starting to make his knees ache. He’d hex the other boy, but he’s worn out from performing wandless magic twice in one day. As it is, the least he can manage is a Shield Charm.

“I was disappointed to see Potter and Pettigrew making a start without letting you hold them up,” Snivellus continues. “It would be nice to have given all four of you detention, but as it is, I’ll settle for you and Lupin. Such a shame your names were recorded on your way into Hogsmeade. _Such_ a pity you didn’t think to use your secret passage into Hogsmeade.”

_Regulus… They’ll mark my name off when Regulus gets through the gate_. But there’s no way he can get back to use the tunnel from Honeydukes. Not unless he gets Snivellus off his back.

“I wouldn’t fret, Snivellus. I’ll make it back with plenty of time to spare.” All he needs is a distraction of five seconds – just long enough to transform into Padfoot. _Where are the others, anyway?_

“Will you? I very much doubt it,” Snivellus says pityingly, glancing at his watch again. “Did I say it was a quarter to? It’s more like five to.”

“I suppose it’s too much to expect you to have learned to tell time accurately,” he says, trying not to let his anger show. “I’d be disappointed, if I’d had higher hopes to begin with.”

“Joke and smile all you want, Black. It’ll be detention for you, unless you can pull your pet Prefect out of your pocket to save your neck again.” Snivellus’ eyes narrow in suspicion for a moment. “Why isn’t that scruffy Mudblood with you, anyway?”

_Why isn’t he with me? Because he doesn’t **want** to be with me. And he said he’d tell Prongs all about it, unless I’m a good boy and beg to be allowed to please him again. _

“I really couldn’t say,” he says indifferently, trying not to let his voice hitch.

Snivellus gives him a sharp look, sensing an evasion even if he can’t be certain what the truth is. “The Professor at the Gate,” – it was Meadowes in the morning, it could be anybody this afternoon, “will stop marking names off at five o’clock, Black.”

“So what?” Perhaps the sensible thing to do is slow down so that whoever is taking names at the Gate isn’t there once he arrives? _No, because Snivellus will drag you straight to McGonagall regardless._

“What you _don’t_ need is to be late tonight, isn’t that right? Important match against Ravenclaw tomorrow?”

_What I don’t need is interfering gits like you making my life difficult by trying to get me expelled_. He refuses to say anything further, but it seems to make little difference, because Snivellus likes the sound of his own carping voice, and starts talking again after a bit.

“It’s ten past five, I should probably mention. Just on the off chance you were hoping for a reprieve.” Snivellus clenches his fingers around his wand so tightly his knuckles turn white. “It would be a pity if you were to miss the match tomorrow.”

“Yes it would be a pity, for Slytherin. You need us to beat Ravenclaw by at least seventy points so your lot have a chance in the finals, don’t you?” They’re past the Gate, and Snivellus was right – the Professor collecting names is no longer there.

“I’d be prepared to forgo that pleasure,” Snivellus says, blood rising into his cheeks, “in exchange for finally having been able to catch you out of the school out of hours. The four of you have flouted the rules since you got here, but I’ve finally _caught_ you at it, Black.” The Slytherin pauses for a self-congratulatory sneer. “So unless you tell me where the secret passage to Hogsmeade _really_ is, you’re going to have a lot of explaining to do to McGonagall. Tell me the password to activate the statue of the one-eyed witch, and I’ll see to it you don’t get detention tomorrow.”

_Do as I say or I’ll tell James, I’ll tell the Auror Academy, I’ll tell McGonagall, I’ll tell, I’ll tell, I’ll tell, so you’d better do as I say or else you’ll be in so much trouble…_

As he opens his mouth, he realises that Snivellus has only offered to protect him from receiving detention – not from being punished, and then again, only for tomorrow.

_So I can give away that password, just to have you take points, or give me detention the day after tomorrow_?

He is tired of people threatening him, blackmailing him, drugging him and bribing him to get him to do what they want.

_You **do not** threaten Sirius Black_, he thinks fiercely, not sure whether he means it for Remus, Snivellus or Mother.

“The one-eyed witch won’t take you to Hogsmeade,” he lies. “You want the Willow,” he clarifies, pointing with his wand to the willow in the distance, its branches flexing in the half-light. “You’ve heard about them in the stories, haven’t you? See the knot? That’s the secret to it - all you have to do is poke it with a stick, and it lets you into the tunnel to Hogsmeade.”

Snivellus simply stares at it for a moment, before asking, “Where does it let out in Hogsmeade?”

“Find out for yourself,” he says, forcing a smile. “I think you’ve taken up quite enough of my time. I’ve a Quidditch match to win tomorrow, if it’s all right by you.”

Turning away, he’s about to head back to Gryffindor Tower, when Snivellus taunts after him, “If it doesn’t work, Black, your detention can still be arranged.”

“It’ll work,” he calls back.

_And when it does…if you still want to know why that scruffy Mudblood isn’t with me…you’ll be able to ask him yourself._

**Author's Note:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated and treasured -- even (especially?) on a fic as old as this one!


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